The Lost Raven
by AngelofRavens
Summary: The misadventures and misfortunes of the poor misguided and misunderstood Soul of Tira as she searches for meaning in this cruel and ugly world. A liberal interpretation of the character and her storyline pre-SCIII--SCIV. I suck at summaries, I know.
1. Rude Awakening

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**01**

"Rude Awakening"

She was cold …

The freezing water snapped her awake, ripping her out of the coma-like slumber. She looked around frantically, and instinctively tried moving; however, something restrained her. She was starving and dying of thirst. Instinctively, she licked at the water that had been splashed on her. As reality slithered around her, blurry figures came into view, remaining forever out of focus. Two silhouettes stood in front of her speaking some alien language of grunts and gibberish as if expecting her to answer. Then the hand of the closest figure suddenly flew, slapping her across the face, and unleashing a burning sensation into her numb cheek. She tried to recoil, but she was trapped.

_Am I still dreaming? Is this a nightmare?_

She opened her mouth to voice the slow clumsy thoughts, but another flight of the figure's hand derailed her train of thought, scattered her thoughts, and only a weak whimper escaped her lips.

"Chuh tup! Way cup, pan chuh tupwh, entch. 'Ey! Ewe lizst in ning tu mea?!"

What was that weird language? She tilt her head to the side, about the only movement she could manage, but the back of his hand blasted the cold flesh of her face yet again.

"Please…" she whimpered

Slap!

"I don't—"

Another slap.

She sighed, closed her eyes tight, and tried to shut it all out.

_It's a dream. It has to be. I have to wake up._

"'ey!" She felt a hand grab a fistful of her bangs, and lifted her head as far as it would go. " Look apt mea win eye em tahl kin tu you!"

_I have to wake up! I have to wake up! _

"Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up," she chanted.

Another slap. Another. And another. Then laughter.

_They're laughing at me!_

"Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up."

Her eyes still closed, she felt a fleeting sensation in her neck, in her wrists like some pressure had been relieved. Then like that it was gone again. The numbness returned, robbing her body of all feeling except for the stinging in her cheeks and in the roots of her bangs.

_I've had this dream before!_

"I all ais seh edsh eew was wonmess sehd hupfr eek."

"Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up."

Eyes still closed, a new sensation. A new feeling. Hands slid under her arms, and the fabric of her top pulled taught against her torso. Someone? No. Two people? Yes, two people were roughly lifting her up by her arms and her top.

_This dream always ends badly! I have to wake up before . . . before . . . ? _

Too weak to move, too weak to resist, each of her limbs was a lifeless weight in her captor's arms. They were carrying her to the dream's end. To the nightmare . . . but . . . but what was at the end of the dream that so frightened her? Where were they taking her? She couldn't remember. Whatever it was, she knew it scared her. Terrified her. No. She couldn't dream it again. Not again. She had to wake up.

"Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up. Please—"

Something collided with her abdomen. Something blunt. Something powerful. So powerful her body wanted to curl up into a fetal position. It opened her eyes and sent all the air from her lungs. The blow jolted all of her senses, and she could feel her whole body again. From the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She was cold and every inch of her ached with a hundred cramps of being cooped up.

A face hovered in front of her's. Grinning. Laughing. Mocking. And this time when his mouth moved, she understood, "You **are** awake, bitch." Slap! Her head, now free of the bonds, snapped to the side. "An' if you ever show yer face 'round her' 'gain …" The back of his hand came back and smacked her head in the other direction. Slap! "…we'll break e'ry bone in yer body…" Slap! Slap! "… and stretch that pr'tty neck of yer's once and f'r all …" Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! "Understand?"

Another voice spoke up, its source she could not see. "That wench is sick in the head, she is! Look at 'er! Starin' at you like a dumb animal! She don't understands nothin'"

The face in front of her retreated from her line of sight, and issued one magical incantation, a mystical command, an order that brought about the end she so feared. "Get 'er out of 'ere."

She saw the edge of the town approach and the large puddle of water just off the side of the road . . .

"Please . . ." she begged.

And her heart sank as the men began swinging her and counting, "one …" back and forth, "two" she was powerless to do anything. "Three" and they flung her out of the town, out of their lives, off of the road, into the forest, and into the ice cold puddle.

She landed face first with a large splash, too drained to brace for the impact. Had the rains of the past week not softened the ground so to cushion her fall, she surely would have broken her neck. The laughter continued. With the tiny sliver of her strength, she managed to, with much effort, barely push herself out of the water, but even that minor accomplishment would be stripped from her. She felt their feet press against her back between her shoulder blades and against the back of her head, then she felt their weight as they stepped on her, pushed her below the water level, and then proceeded to grind her thin form into the soft mud.

And the laughter continued. Through the murky waters she could hear it. Feel it. The mockery reverberated through the boots pinning her to this wet shallow grave. The laughter pushed her deeper and deeper into the earth. It crushed her. Buried her. She couldn't hold her breath anymore and tasted moist dirt in her mouth.

_Please . . . let me die._

And just like that, their weight was gone. The end had come. The laughter left her.

With the last of her strength, she rolled onto her back and filled her lungs with air. Looking in the direction of the town, she saw a few men herding the other townsfolk back into the gate. Children peeked around mothers, from behind carts, trees, and woodpiles to catch a glimpse of her. One tall dark and handsome fellow stood at the gates, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he loaded his pipe to smoke. Deeper in the town, she could see the stocks where a new prisoner was dragged over to the pillory, where they'd spend the longest most miserable pair of days in their life.

Her vision blurred as her eyes watered. Too weak to keep them open anymore, she let her eyelids fall. Tears streaked down the soft skin of her face. The aches slowly left her body, and the numbness returned. Nothing left but the cold.

_Please let me die._

Tira passed out.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	2. Distant Memories

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**02**

"Distant Memories"

Morning gave way to afternoon to dusk. And just as the sun slipped below the western horizon, Tira came to again. Still lying in the puddle, still freezing, and her skin had wrinkled having spent the whole day in water. She lay motionless (aside from the uncontrollable shivering) and made no sound (other than her tummy growling after days of not eating), staring up through the forest canopy at the starry sky for the better part of an hour while her weary mind tried to figure out how she got here.

Three black birds circled high above. Mere specs going round and round. Ravens. Her ravens. Maybe her only friends in the world. One of them descended through the trees and came to rest upon her head. It gently poked her with its talons and pecked, but not to hurt her. It was his own way of giving an encouraging nudge.

But it was no use. She couldn't remember the past few days. Her long term memory was fine, but the short term? A puzzle at best with dozens of missing pieces. She remembered things from a long time ago such as the Bird of Passage, the guild she belonged to (where she met her black feathered friends). How she loved the guild. She vividly remembered receiving descriptions from anonymous guildsmen, tracking down her mark, setting off with her three pals, them helping her locate her target, her murdering the poor bastard, then returning with proof of her deed (eyes were the best! The windows to the soul!). They never paid her, but rather provided her with everything she (and her friends) could want or need. They provided shelter, food, and other supplies and nifty little trinkets from time to time! Oh, and a ring blade! A circular sword she could dance with, let it encircle her form and her body became a literal whirlwind of death! Nothing was cooler than feeling the cold steel glide harmlessly, caressingly, across her perfect curves, while on the other side the bladed edge shredded her pray and blood rained down upon her. The ring blade was the best!

At any rate, the Guild provided everything for her so commoners would never see her at the market, no inn keeper ever saw her looking for a place to stay, and no stable hand could identify her as the woman securing her horse. No one saw her come, no one saw her stay, and no one saw her leave. She was never there. She didn't exist . . .

. . . and she **liked** it!

But sometimes she **did** exist! Rather, a part of her did. Just a part. A small one too. Indeed, her favorite setup was when she posed as a slave. Sold by her own guild on the black market to her intended target. There was something exotic, something thrilling, something_ sexy_ about being on the end of a leash, being on her knees, being a mere piece of property, yet simultaneously being a God! Being all powerful in determining how long her "master" would live. Being able to deliver Judgment! Yes, she was a slave, but she was also a God!

And she was a good slave, if a feeble one. A weak slave with a weaker stomach, she was no good for manual labor and fainted at the sight of blood or the slightest pang of pain. "Not very bright either," they would say with a smile, "but what's to be expected from a woman?" But they never bought her for her conversations. They never purchased her for her heavy lifting. No! They bought her for her dance, for her curves, for her soft skin and gentle touch. And she was an obedient slave who knew her place. And so when her master perished, no one would suspect her.

Not Tira, she faints at the sight of a whip. Never Tira, her terror of punishment keeps her obsessively obedient. Only an inhuman monster would kill the master with such brutality, such viciousness, and savagery. It couldn't be her. Not Tira. Never Tira. She was a good slave. The bad Tira, the assassin, the **Goddess**, didn't exist!

When the master perished, the other slaves always fled, but she stayed like the good little slave she was. She wouldn't stay were she guilty, would she? No! That would just be stupid, and not even Tira was that stupid! So the guards would track down the escaped slaves. Torture confessions out of them, and then execute them for the crime. And all the while she laughed with childlike giddiness inside. She fooled them! Fooled them all! She kept hidden her Godlike superiority! Who's stupid now? Ha! The morons!

And with the master dead, the estate would eventually collapse into debt (creditors gave favors to persons, not their estates.) They'd have to sell her back to the Bird of Passage, never knowing the dark thoughts, the black heart, and the cruel glint in her eye.

The good slave existed, but the evil assassin did not.

But then one day, the Bird of Passage never bought her back. She was sold to a new master, and didn't know what to do. Had the guild abandoned her? Then suddenly being in chains wasn't sexy anymore, eyes tracing her figure made her feel uncomfortable, and the touch of her master made her recoil. They called her dumb, and it hurt her feelings. What did she do wrong? Why did the Bird of Passage leave her? She was confused, and that made her a bad slave. And a bad slave had to be punished, broken, and molded into a good slave. They whipped her, and she forgot to faint. She forgot to play feeble. She wasn't a good slave! She wasn't that pitiful pretty little thing that was good for nothing but entertainment! The Goddess was gone! She was mortal! Mortal _and_ a bad slave … and now they'd suspect her if she tried anything. Maybe they already suspected her! What was she to do? She did nothing. She didn't obey, nor did she rebel. But they called her a bad slave anyway. Her master slapped her, and called for his other servants. They were going to whip her again. Harder than before. They'd make her learn this time. This time would be the last time. This time they'd fix her!

So she did the one thing she knew how to do. With viper-like speed and precision her hands flew, grabbed her master's face, and snapped his neck. Taking his dagger before the corpse hit the floor, she flew to the shadows by the door, and when the servants entered she slit both their throats before they ever realized the danger. But there was no power in this murder. She still wasn't the Goddess of before. She was just a bad slave, a coward, fighting and fleeing for her life. A God has no reason to run. She was mortal. A bad slave, and a coward. She darted through the hallways, through the corridors, and made it out the back entrance long before anyone found her handiwork. She existed. The dark assassin existed, and they'd know it. She'd have to not-exist. At least around here. She'd have to cease to exist.

But how could she if she were no longer a Goddess? The Guild? Yes! The Bird of Passage could fix her! They'd make her a God again!

Then her hopes came crashing down, for she sought the guild and found nothing. Her safe house was inhabited by strangers not associated with the guild. Her contacts had vanished, and she had no idea where they could be. They left her! Not only her, but they disowned her black feathered friends too! What did she do that was so bad that they'd abandon her raven friends too? And that really made her feel bad. They could do what they wanted to her, but leave her ravens out of it! Oh, but it was hopeless. The Guild was gone. She was damned to stay mortal. Cast out of paradise! She fell to her knees and cried, for her heart and soul had fled her. She existed, and her whole world had vanished.

She didn't bother retrieving her beloved ring blade from its secret resting spot (obviously, she couldn't take it with her while posing as a slave.) The guild had abandoned her and her friends. They wouldn't let her use it. They probably took it back already anyway. Oh what was she to do? Without the Bird of Passage she was lost. A fallen Goddess forced to walk with mortals. And that's where the vivid memories end and where the puzzle begins.

From village to village she wandered, trying to find a new home but the world outside the Guild was so strange. Sure, she passed among these people before, but never really interacted with them. At least, not beyond a surface level. They made no sense! They were concerned with weird things, and their treatment of her was so random. One minute they smiled at her, the next they screamed and yelled and said mean things. One moment they offered friendship, but the next they made fun of her and the whole room pointed and laughed. Men boasted lies about their escapades, women whispered lies in quiet circles about their neighbors, but Tira couldn't lie. No, Tira couldn't even ask questions about those other people's lies. They could take things from her, but she couldn't take things from them. They could be mean to her, but she had to be polite or else they'd arrest her. They could hit her, but she couldn't fight back or she'd be arrested and put in the stocks. It wasn't fair. It didn't make sense.

And thus she couldn't remember because it was all so confusing.

Village to village, the people rejected her. If she was lucky, they just all refused to help her, were mean to her, mocked and laughed at her until she left. When she was unlucky, they put her in jail or the pillories for days on end and sometimes they even beat her. Nobody was nice. Nobody. Even the children were rotten! They threw rocks at her friends for no reason. What did a raven ever do to them?

Now she lay here in a puddle on the outskirts of town with no idea how she got here. Well, that's not true. She knew they threw her out of town, but she didn't know why. By this point all of their mistreatment of her just sorta blurred together. By morning, she won't remember if these people just refused or abused her. Did they keep her in the stocks for hours? Days? A week? She didn't know. Probably days with how her tummy growled at her. But it didn't matter anyway. It would all become one bad experience in a never ending nightmare.

They hurt her feelings because they knew she used to be a God. They wanted to boost their egos, and they couldn't get away with it before. But now the tables had turned. Now they could hurt her, and so they did.

_I don't want to go on like this. _She thought, and then said aloud, "the Goddess is dead."

No one heard her, and no one helped her.

Still laying in that puddle of water, still shivering, her tummy still growling, Tira cried.

_Please let me die._

_

* * *

_

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	3. Playing Possum Part I

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**03**

"Playing Possum Part I"

The night sky was clear, allowing the moon and stars to illuminate the forested landscape surprisingly well with their pale yet pretty light. A ways off in the village she could hear the sound of singing, laughter. A party or celebration in the local tavern or something. It sounded like fun. And music too! Oh, she could dance to this music too! But she knew better than to get carried away with her thoughts. She didn't mix well with parties. Not normal people parties, anyway. Where there was alcohol there were drunks and where there were drunks there were assholes looking to pick on her and where there's assholes looking to pick on her there's a crowd waiting to laugh at her.

Why weren't there any nice people in this world?

The raven on her head gently poked at her with its talons.

"I know," she said, reaching up and scratching under the fowl's beak, "what would I do without you guys?" After a long while Tira finally rolled over. The bird took off and joined his pals above the tree line. Tira scooped up a few handfuls of water to drink. No doubt she consumed some dirt with it too, but she didn't care. It was too dark to see, and she was too thirsty to taste it. She couldn't do anything about her hunger, but at least she could get some water. Then, with great effort, she pushed herself up enough to sit on her knees, and there she wavered, wobbled, and mentally prepared her body for the task of standing up.

_I can't do it. I'm too weak. _She thought, then shook the thoughts away (which made her dizzy). Nevertheless, she tried to dismiss it all with some optimism, _Don't think like that, Tira! Be positive! Your friends are all cheering for you! Hear them chirping up there? I can do it! I can! _

And she tried. She planted her feet on the ground, took a moment to regain her balance, then slowly straightened up halfway. Bent at the waist, her hands resting on her knees, she let the next dizzy spell pass.

_See! Just gotta take it slow. We'll be okay._

Holding her breath, she slowly eased herself up the rest of the way … a third wave of dizziness hit. _Oh no! _She staggered, fought with everything she had to keep her balance and stay up, but she kept overcorrecting, staggering more, until finally she landed face first in the puddle again. "Yeah, that went well," she said on a defeated sigh. She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and then looked over her shoulder back to the village. Back to the party that didn't invite her. Sounds of merriment, joy, and fun. She paused wondering what it would be like to be one of the crowd for a change, but then quickly sighed and shook the thought away.

_No one wants to play with an ex-Goddess._

Why dwell on it? It wasn't ever going to happen. She was never going to be accepted, never going to fit in, so why not just go off and have her own fun without them? Besides, she had her own friends, and people always mistreated her feathered friends. Then she proceeded to crawl on all fours out of the puddle, down the forest road.

Crawling. It was sexy when she played slave and her masters wanted her to, when she was a Goddess playing possum, but now it sucked. Back then she'd exaggerate her motions, making the act more exotic, arousing, and alluring. Now that she had to crawl to get anywhere, she exercised an economy of movement. Now that she was too weak to walk.

_Being mortal takes the fun out of __**everything**__._

She crawled throughout the night along this dark lonely road, flanked by trees and brush. Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, so she could see fairly well. Occasionally her friends would swoop down for a friendly fly-by. A pleasant 'hi' and sometimes they'd perch on her back or on her head for awhile, giving her pecks of encouragement. They were good friends. Way way off she could see the light of a new town, but it never seemed to get any closer. It stayed at the end of the road, a couple specs of light, pointing at her, laughing at her, beckoning her to come, but never letting her arrive. But who cares? It's a town probably full of jerks just like the last … how many towns had she been to? Screw it. '. . . just like **all** the towns.'

_But there's probably food. Maybe I could find something to eat before they drive me away. Maybe if I sneak in . . . _

That's about when her friends chirped loudly, announcing she wasn't alone. Sure enough, she looked ahead and spotted two figures hiding behind the brush on either side of the road. Bandits, no doubt. Who else would hide behind trees at this hour of the night? Kids, maybe, but she's not that lucky. Unless they were mean kids who would kick her and sit on her back and try to ride her like a pony. Rotten little brats. Actually, wouldn't _that_ be her luck? Harassed by snotty little brats with sticks. Despite the warning (which she appreciated), Tira pressed on without so much as a hesitation. It'd take forever to go around, or turn around, and they'd probably spot her anyway. She couldn't stand up much less run, so she might as well keep going. Maybe they'll let her pass. Maybe they'll take pity on her.

_Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? _Then she whispered sarcastically, "and maybe they'll bake me a cake while I'm dreaming." As she approached, the two figures emerged from their hiding place and converged on her.

"'ello, 'ello, 'ello. What do we 'ave 'ere, son?" Two grown men.

_Yep, I'm screwed._

"Looks like a damsel in distress, pops!"

Her path blocked by the father and son, Tira stopped and looked up at the bandits with the most pitiful puppy dog eyes she could muster. "Please, si-sirs, I don't wa-want any trouble." Maybe if she could just paint the most pathetic picture she could … just maybe …

"Trouble? Wouldn't dream of it love!" Said the elder.

"Now tell us, why're you out 'ere all by your lonesome crawlin' like an animal? Somethin' wrong with your legs?"

Tira answered in a feeble voice, "wh-when I stand up, I-I get dizzy, and I fa-fall down." She even trembled.

"That so?" The son said, taking out an apple from one of his pockets. He polished the fruit on his shirt and took a hardy bite. "Poor thing. Must've been on the road a long while, huh?"

But Tira didn't hear a word. The moment she saw the apple, she couldn't pull her attention away. She stared at the fruit, mouth agape.

"Think she wants your apple, son. Look at 'er! Begging like a dog."

"That so? She looks 'ungry. You 'ungry?"

Tira nodded. "I haven't eaten in days." With food in sight, she even forgot to stutter.

"Tell you what." The father spoke up, "You can 'ave the rest of me son's apple, but it's going to cost you . . . say . . . three silver. That sound fair, son?"

"Very fair, pops!"

"Bu-but I don't have any money."

"Hmm. That could be a problem."

"Nonsense, son! Nonsense! Think outside the box!"

"Right as always, father! I forgot we also barter!"

"Indeed! Now, what do you have to trade?"

Tira bowed her head, "I don't have anything."

"Don't lie now. That's not true."

"But—"

"Ah, ah, ah. My dear." The father said, kneeling down in front of her, "You do indeed 'ave somethin'."

"These," said the son, kneeling beside her and tapping her armbands and tugging on her top, "the clothes on your back, missy."

"But—"

The father touched her chin and forced Tira to look up at him, "if you want us to give you something—"

And son continued, running his hand up her back and through her hair, "—it's only fair you give us something."

Then together, the father scratching her chin and the son stroking her hair, they finished in unison, "fair is fair."

_Of course._

Tira sighed, looking at empty space while contemplating the deal.

"Do you want to eat or not, love?" the father asked, taking his son's apple and waving it in front of Tira's face. Close enough that she could smell its sweet aroma. She opened her mouth and leaned forward hoping to get a taste, but he pulled the fruit away.

Reluctantly, Tira agreed. Pulling her arm and wristbands free, she sat back on her legs and stripped out of her top, holding one arm across her chest to cover her now bare breasts. With her free hand she held up the items for them to collect (which the son promptly did.) But as she reached for the apple, it was pulled away yet again.

"Oh no, no, no. No! That wouldn't be a fair trade, now would it?"

"Bu-but—"

"No, it wouldn't." The son agreed. "You wouldn't want to rip us off, would you darling? You 'ave a use for the apple, but what are we going to do with these rags and this junk?"

"No offense, but they're not exactly fancy threads. Are they?"

"I mean, this 'ere 'ardly qualifies as a shirt."

"If you want the apple, you're gonna 'afta keep going, love. The boots and the breaches."

Tira looked back and forth between them, pleading quietly with her eyes. But they only stared back at her with anxious grins. The father took a bite out of the apple, and slowly chewed, savoring the taste. At their mercy and having no choice, Tira bowed her head and reluctantly, with much effort, peeled off her boots and trousers, surrendering them as well. Now left only in an undergarment, she begged, "now…?"

The two men looked at one another with a long dramatic pause. Blank expressions on their faces. Then they looked back to Tira gravely and, in unison, shook their heads, judging her offering unworthy.

"Please…"

The father took another bite out of the apple. Tira's heart sank. She wasn't surprised, but it crushed her nonetheless. She would have to surrender all of her dignity. Yet another aspect of life that was fun back when she was a Goddess now completely ruined by being a mortal. Once upon a time she had a choice of stripping. She would obey because at any moment she could kill her master, but she choose to take off her clothes. Why not? The Goddess could kill just as effectively naked as she could clothed. Her master couldn't touch her. But not anymore. Now if she disobeyed, they'd hold her down and rip her clothes off and then probably do worse things to her and there was nothing she could do about it. Now, she had no choice. Now she had to strip.

_Not that it's going to matter._

And so for the first time in her life, she felt self conscious as she slid the last article of clothing down her slender legs and off her body leaving her completely naked. She did her best to keep herself covered, crossing her arms over her chest and curling up into a ball. The two men, her judges … her Gods … towered over her. She felt pathetic. Stripped of everything, humiliated, she sat in their shadows awaiting judgment. From a Goddess giving judgment to a mortal being judged.

_No, worse. A beggar begging for scraps._

She didn't dare speak. They had taken her clothes and with them her pride. She had nothing left to give. Surely it was enough to get the apple.

The father bit into the fruit. The son chuckled menacingly. And both men smiled.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	4. Playing Possum Part II

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**04**

"Playing Possum Part II"

"I'm sorry, deary, I should 'ave told you." The father began, "this was just the toll for using our road."

"You see, this 'ere is our road," the son continued, "and you've travelled on it for a ways now and owe us a toll. You wouldn't want to steal from us, now?"

"But—"

"Would you?"

"No! But—"

"Would you?"

Tira bowed her head and whimpered, "But you promised."

"We made a mistake."

"And we're sorry."

"You paid us for the road."

"But you owe us for the apple."

"Bu-but," now her stutter was genuine, " I don't have anything left!"

"Oh, that's right."

"That is a problem."

"I guess, she don't get the apple after all. Sorry love. Be on your way now."

"But—"

"Son, don't be so cruel," the father smacked the younger man upside the head, "have some manners. This 'ere's a lady. She may not have anything to give, but we're some generous gentlemen. And we can give her the apple for a small service."

"Oh! Right you are pops! Right you are! A small service! What say you?"

She didn't have to ask, but she did anyway. "What kind of service?"

They looked at one another, then reached down, each one taking an arm, and helped Tira to her feet. With the full length of her exposed (much to their pleasure and delight and her dismay), Tira gulped as they escorted her off the road and into the woods.

She didn't resist. She couldn't. She let them take her deep into the woods, out of the moonlight, and into the dark shadows of moonlit trees. Over a small hill, and down a narrow pathway. She felt the leaves beneath her bare feet, and her escort's wandering fingertips against her breasts as they adjusted their grip. Finally into a small clearing where hot embers of a dying fire glow. Two hammocks were stretched out between the trees, and backpacks safely tucked away out of reach of animal raiders.

"'ere you go," said the father, dropping the apple in front of Tira. Well, the core. She wanted it anyway. It was something. "Build up the fire, son. Let's 'ave a good look at 'er."

They let her go, and she crumbled to the ground not really paying attention to them. No reason to. She couldn't outrun then. She couldn't overpower them. They were going to rape her, no doubt, but there was no stopping that. Not in her condition. Not yet anyway. Her friends would help her if they could, but they'd only get hurt themselves or worse. Killed. And she'd rather the worst happen to her than anything bad happen to her friends. She didn't know what she'd do if something happened to them.

No, she was alone here. She'd have to deal with them by herself … or not deal with them and let them do whatever. No sense thinking about it. At least she had her apple core with a few sliver of edible apple still on it. She picked it up, didn't bother dusting it off, and sank her teeth into it, and sucked whatever juice out she could. Rotated the apple, and did the same until it was completely dry.

After awhile, the father and son converged on her again. They took her by the arms, and helped her stand up, and viewed her naked body in the golden flickering firelight. She didn't care … until the father took her apple away and tossed it into the fire. Then she felt small, powerless, and scared. Even worse, they vocally critiqued her physique. She didn't understand why. She had a nice figure from dancing, didn't she? Besides, what was the big deal about a jumbo bosom, anyway? She'd had to deal with this sort of thing before as a Goddess, but back then the words worshipped her. Now as a mortal, they degraded her, embarrassed and humiliated her and she didn't seem to be good enough. Now it wasn't flattering. Now it hurt her feelings.

Tira bowed her head in shame, and a tear streaked down her cheek. "Be gentle with me."

"Of course, love." Said the father, as the two men lowered her to the ground. Laying Tira on her back. "You 'old her arms."

"Yes, pop."

The son pinned her wrists to the ground right next to her head. The father loosened his belt.

"Will you do me one favor? Please?"

The father laughed, and started for his breaches.

"Please … just one thing."

The father ignored her, letting his pants drop around his ankles. But the son humored her, "What's that, love?"

"Kiss me first. I beg you. Do wh-whatever y-you want with me, but just … k-kiss me before you do it."

The two men had a good laugh. She couldn't imagine why. Then again, she shouldn't have expected any better. They always laugh at her. They didn't use to. But now they do. Bastards.

"All right," said the father, straddling the naked assassin. He put his hands on her breasts, squeezing and groping her as he slowly lowered his face to her's until their noses about touched. "But this kiss'll cost you—"

_It'll cost you first! _Tira's head jerked forward, her mouth opened, and her teeth clamped down on the man's nose. Then summoning as much strength as she could, she gambled everything on this maneuver and jerked her head back, twisting violently, and ripping daddy's nose clean off.

"Pop—"

And the gamble paid off. In that moment of shock, as blood sprayed both her and the son, her captor's grip faltered and Tira snapped her wrists free then thrust them finger-nails first into the son's eyes. She felt the moisture of his eyes upon her fingertips as they slid into the eye socket, and his inhuman shriek confirmed that they hit their mark.

"You bitch!" The father and son both screamed.

Tira then swept both arms across the ground to either side of her, searching for something. Anything! Aha! A rock! Snatching it up and, with all her might, she smashed the father's skull with it. And then the dizziness struck her.

_Oh no! _The world spun, and fatigue slammed her starved and dehydrated body, threatening to drag her to full blown unconsciousness. _If I pass out, I'm done for! Stay awake, Tira! _She shut her eyes tightly as the spinning accelerated. If she had anything (significant) in her stomach she no doubt would've thrown up. She heard a loud ringing in her ears. Now she felt light headed. She stayed frozen in place, daring not to move. Unconsciousness was banging on the door to her mind. It wanted to slip in through the cracks and grab her then drag her away to oblivion.

"I can't pass out! I have to stay awake! I can't pass out…" she chanted.

Her head throbbed, she felt her own pulse. _Any second now, the son is going to take my rock away from me! Then he's going to hit me with it! Then they're gonna do bad things to me! Please let me just die! Right now! Fall over dead, Tira!_

But then her friends chirped from high above. Cheering her on. Hearing their tiny voices brought comfort. She sighed and whispered, "I can do this. I can!" Straightening up, she tried to find a calm within her. A peace. Strength.

Slowly. Ever so slowly the lightheadedness passed. The world slowed and then stopped spinning. But she knew as things wound down, that if she tried anything it would just spin out of control again. She'd pass out, and they would have her. They wouldn't screw up again. They'd have her for good. Any second, the son should smash her head in with his own rock. Or steal hers and hit her with it. Or tie her up. Or something. Anything. She was vulnerable right now. He could do whatever he wanted to with her. She was vulnerable.

But it never came. The world returned to normal, and Tira opened her eyes. The son lay on his side, crying like a baby, "my eyes! Pop! The bitch cut my eyes! Pop! Pop! I'm blind!" His father lay behind her in a pool of blood. His chest very faintly rising and falling. The dizziness passed, the lightheadedness faded. The tables had turned. The men were vulnerable and at _her_ mercy.

Tira crawled over to the weeping son, raised the rock over her head, and brought it down upon his skull.

High above her friends sang the song of Tira's victory.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	5. A Good Tira is a Happy Tira!

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**05**

"A Good Tira is a Happy Tira!"

The sun hovered high in the sky, bathing a now dressed Tira in its warm comforting light. She lay curled up, asleep, tummy full, and content in one of the hammocks, floating comfortably a few feet over the earth. The camp looked like a tornado had hit it. She'd cut down their backpacks and scoured their things for something to eat, tossing everything non-edible aside until finally she struck jackpot! Some stale bread, some berries, and dates. Not a grand meal, but given that she was starving she found it quite yummy.

And even though she was starved, she remembered to share with her ravens because she was a good friend, and not selfish at all. They had a great meal together.

Oh, and the camp had blood everywhere too. Lots and lots of blood splattered all over the campsite. A few crimson pools reflected the otherwise peaceful day. In the middle of one of the bigger pools lay an unidentifiable black mass. Burnt, no doubt, to a crisp.

And tied to a tree, one of the bandits (the father) screamed through a gag which yielded odd muffled noises. Tira wearily reached down, snatched up a rock, and flung it blindly in his direction. "Mmph! I don't wanna wake up." The rock struck something, she heard its quiet thud, but had no idea what it actually struck. She doubted it hit its target.

_I'm not that lucky._

It didn't seem to have any effect on the proclamations of "Mm! Mmph! Mgh! Rrrgh! M-mergmaph!" Tira sighed, rolled out of the hammock rather ungracefully and landed in a heap. But it was okay now. It was all okay now that she'd eaten and rested. The rush of adrenaline from the short fall actually felt pretty good. After her head cleared of the wakey-wakey-cobwebs, she giggled, straightened up, stretched out and dusted herself off. It felt so good not to be stuck in a damp dirty jail cell or cold noisy alley or cramped up in a pillory or crawling on all fours. Not just good, it felt **great!**

_Today's gonna be a good day after all!_ She thought, strolling over to her prisoner where she plopped down with a bounce. She waved at him, a bright smile on her pretty face, and then said, "Hi! I'm Tira!"

A string of garbled hostile gibberish answered.

"I'm fine! Thanks for asking. How are you?"

Still gibberish, but judging by the bloodshot eyes, the throbbing veins on his forehead, and the high pitched intensity of the muffled voice, he wanted to bludgeon her to death.

"Why thank you! I rather like the color of my hair! It matches my eyes!"

He lunged forward all two inches he could muster.

"Aww!" Tira leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, "I could use a hug! Thanks!" He bucked, squirmed, yelled and screamed into the gag, hoping to snap his bonds and then her neck. But, alas, they wouldn't give. His captor literally pressed herself against him, squeezed him in her happy hug, and he could do nothing. Couldn't even bite her or headbutt her or anything. He was powerless, and she was all powerful. Tira couldn't help but giggle giddily as she pulled away. Still smiling, still bouncing in place with energy.

"Aw, why you such a party pooper this morning—well, it's not really morning is it?" She looked up at the sky, at the sun through the trees, "it's well after noon, isn't it? I slept through nap time. Oh well. Anyway, hey! Guess what! Guess what! I have some news that ought to cheer you up." She sat up, changing positions slightly so she could sit on her legs. And like a teenager gossiping with schoolmates, she went on in wide-eyed wonder, "See, last night I was really mad that I didn't get my apple. I mean, not only did you eat it in front of me after I gave you everything I had (which I'm not even that upset about.) I'd of given my clothes for an apple. I was really really hungry. I wouldn't have been happy being naked, but at least I'd have something to eat and I guess it would be fair. I mean, it would've been great had you been nice and helped me just to be nice, but I'd have been okay with trading my pride for something to nibble on. You could've taken my clothes, given me my apple, and sent me on my way.

"But, you know what? You guys didn't trade." She tapped him on the nose like a master smacking a misbehaving dog, "I didn't get my apple, and you said I could have it. You lied! You ate it in front of me, and worse yet you didn't even have another one anywhere. And I looked everywhere! So I was mad. Really really mad! You robbed me, so I should rob you to be fair. But I decided since you two weren't fair to me, I wouldn't be fair to you. I wouldn't rob you, I'd _kill _the both of you! Then I thought, if I'm going to kill them with the fire right there, I might as well cook them and then _eat_ them! Take care of two problems at once, and _then_ I thought, Ooh! Ooh! I know! I'll tie them up, hoist them over the fire, and cook them _alive_! That'll **really** teach them!"

Caught up in the momentum of her own story, Tira closed her eyes and clapped at the brilliance of her idea. Then she rubbed her hands together, opened her eyes, and continued on. "But, I was too weak and tired to do that. I couldn't have lifted you guys up even if I did rig a pulley (which would've been too much work.) So I just slit your son's throat, cut him into pieces, and cooked him like that. He was yummy—"

The father's struggles reached a climax. He jerked, fought, squirmed, lunged, and struggled as much as his bonds would let him. The veins on his forehead looked ready to burst, and his eyes were opened so wide they looked ready to pop out. He even looked like he might manage to bite through his gag. He was kinda scary lookin'.

It didn't phase Tira, though. She went on, "but for you, I was going to wait till I was stronger, sleep off some exhaustion, have a bite of Junior. Then I was going to go through with my original idea and cook _you_ alive cause you ate my apple damn it! Hey! Quit freaking out!" She leaned close, pinched his cheeks, and brought her face close to his so that their noses nearly touched. Then in a sincere tone, she made an honest effort to sooth him, "Shh! Calm down and let me finish! Okay? Just listen: now that I'm rested up, I'm feeling kinda lazy. I'm not really mad anymore, and I don't really want to go through the trouble of cooking you. I mean, I'd have to tie a bunch of knots and make a harness and then toss a rope over a tree branch and around the trunk of a tree. Then I'd have to hoist you up, and you look really heavy, and ugh do you know how much of a pain it is trying to tie a knot while holding a rope that's attached to something heavy? I dunno if I could even do that by myself. Then there's the fire I'd have to build, and after you were cooked I'd still have to cut you up, and yuck! Too much work! So I'm not going to cook you."

He went on to give a mean and nasty rant. Tira didn't understand a word of it. But there was no mistaking the tone. And it still felt like a slap to the face even though he was physically incapable of doing it. After everything she did, this is the way he thanks her?

Genuinely hurt, she said, "Bu-but I thought that'd make you happy."

He wasn't happy. In fact, it seemed to make him even madder.

Tira frowned, but then perked up again, "well, even if you're mean to me, I'm not going to let it get to me! In fact, I'm going to be nice! I could do whatever I want to you right now, but I'm going to let you live. I'm even going to untie you and let you go because even though I can be really mean when I want to be, I can be very nice too."

Then she fetched the dagger lying on the ground by the fire (the one she used to carve up the younger of the bandits earlier which she found in one of their backpacks.) She took the weapon, and gingerly placed it in his grasp. "Don't drop it now. And don't cut yourself cutting through your bonds. Okiedokie? I'm gonna go now. Bubye!"

Taking nothing with her, Tira skipped away humming a happy tune feelings quite good about herself. This world has shown her nothing but meanness and incivility, but she was a good example! She was nice to him even though he wasn't nice to her. And she felt accomplished for it! She felt great! If being good made people feel so warm and fuzzy inside, how come more people weren't nice? They really were missing out.

Not even five minutes passed when she heard first a chirping from above, her loyal friends warning her, then a few seconds later an enraged scream from behind her. "You bloody bitch! I'll kill you!"

_Try to do something nice …_

A shadow descended upon her. Knife raised. It came slashing down to take her head off, but at the last second, Tira spun to the side and swept her feet low, taking the infuriated father figure off his feet. He fell face first into the dirt, and at the same moment her foot stomped down upon his wrist, pinning his weapon hand to the ground. On a sigh, she raised her other foot and brought the heel smashing down upon his hand, snapping the little bones, and forcing him to release the weapon. Snatching up the dagger, she strolled around him like a vulture, running her fingers along the blade's edge to test its sharpness. Then she shrugged.

"No. Do what you want. I'm still not gonna kill you." She wagged her finger at him like he were a child, "I'm still gonna set an example; I'm still gonna be nice."

_And maybe if I confiscate your blade, it won't give you any silly ideas._

But he came at her again. This time with a rock. This time his screams were pure rage, and no sign of comprehensible language resided anywhere in it. Effortlessly and gracefully, she ducked under his overpowered attack. And instead of spinning safely to the side, she actually launched herself straight back into his body, driving her elbow deep into his gut. The screams ceased, replaced by gasps. The rock fell from his grasp. Taking his arm, she flung his heavy body over her shoulder, using more leverage and momentum than strength to execute the throw. Then pinning the offending hand to the ground with her foot, she stabbed the dagger through his extremity and pinned it to the ground. Then she raised her boot over his head, and brought her heel down viciously upon his face, knocking him out cold.

"It's for your own good," Tira said, and for the third time walked away like a good little Tira.

_It's like he doesn't want my kindness. Like he's __**trying**__ to provoke me into killing him._

As she made it to the road, she looked over her shoulder to the unconscious man who seemed hell bent determine to reject her generosity. She had to ruin both of his hands and smash his face in to save his life. Tira shook her head. This world, these people, made absolutely positively no fucking sense.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	6. An Egyptian Enchantment

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**06**

"An Egyptian Enchantment"

Tira skipped happily along the forest road humming a happy tune to herself. She passed a couple travelers. Usually in wagons coming the other way. She didn't stop for them, nor they for her, but she would wave and offer a chipper "hi" but few would respond. Little kids would smile at her, but rarely adults. At best adults would tip their hats solemnly, but most would sneer or ignore her altogether. How come adults didn't smile as much? Aren't they ever happy?

Most of the time, though, Tira was alone with nature. Birds chirped, insects hummed, squirrels and other little animals poked their heads out of their hiding places to watch as she went by. Every now and again she'd stop abruptly and lunge towards the tree line yelling "Boo!" then giggle as all the animals scurried away. But it wasn't to scare them. Oh no, she'd never scare them. It was a game, and it was fun! The animals would always come back out to play another round or two! That town in the far distance slowly crept towards her taking seemingly forever, but now she didn't much care anymore. She was having fun playing with the animals. People never played fun games with her. Why was that?

It didn't seem very long before the sun started to set on the Western horizon. Golden light filtered through the forest, stretching the shadows to freakishly long lengths and distorting them to horrifying proportions. The sky was blood red. Per usual, her raven friends signaled her that something was ahead, and sure enough she saw him on the side of the road by what looked like a broken down cart. Something about him sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't slow her pace, or quiet her song, but she stayed alert as the uneasy feeling in her gut only intensified. When she got closer, sure enough the axel was busted and two of the wheels lay beside the useless vehicle. But strangely, the cart looked empty except for a few blankets. The cart was weathered, sunk in the mud, and had a layer of grime and twigs and stuff on it as though it had been abandoned long ago.

_This isn't right._

"You're late, Tira."

She stopped in her tracks, preparing herself for anything, "how do you know my name?" Wait! "Are you with the Bird of Passage?" So full of anticipation, so eager to have her guild back, she abandoned her caution and raced forward, "Are they—"

The man stepped forward, and from beneath the blanket he produced a scythe that he swung. Tira saw the weapon, could have avoided the blow (and should have) but the shock of building up her hopes and having them come crashing down bludgeoned her reaction time. The scythe whipped behind her knees, and in one violent motion ripped her off her feet (but didn't scratch her fair skin). She landed on her rear end in a seated position, looking rather pitiful with a confused and bewildered look on her face.

Her attacker wasted no time, immediately following up the sweep with a kicked aim squarely at her pretty face. Tira's senses returned to her at the last moment, and she flattened herself against the ground so his foot passed safely over her. The butt-end of the scythe came down upon her, but she rolled safely to the side, rising up to spring away. But before she could launch herself, that damn scythe blade hooked around her body again, and pulled her right back. His foot came smashing down followed by the butt of the scythe, and again she successfully avoided the merciless bludgeoning. Again, she tried to scamper away, and again right as she reached out for freedom she felt the scythe blade against her belly as it dragged her right back to her starting place.

Three times that blade had pressed against her bare flesh. Three times now he could have sliced her and ended her had he wanted to. _Is he playing with me?_ It didn't feel like a game. If it were, it wasn't one she liked. _He wants me alive for some reason, but why?_ Maybe he had a weird fetish where he liked to bash girls, but not cut their pretty faces? _Ugh! What a freak! _She avoided the stomps and bludgeons yet again, but this time as Tira rose she didn't try to flee. This time she answered his assault with one of her own. Her hands flew, aiming for his eyes.

But his dark skinned hand clamped over her face, and Tira saw a strange light emanate from his palm as he began chanting something. She felt her nails connect with his cheeks, thrown off from their target by his … whatever the hell he was doing. Tira retracted her talons, corrected their trajectory, and launched another attack for his eyes. But the light from his hand intensified, and a pulse of energy shot through her body and Tira couldn't move.

_Wha … ?_

His chanting grew louder, and now it seemed to echo in her head like there was three of him standing around her. Her arms and legs felt weak, and she felt woozy, sleepy. It felt like there someone standing behind her, arms wrapped around her, caressing her and whispering in her ear something soothing, something disarming, something _enchanting_.

"What … are … you …"

Another pulse of energy shot through her body, and Tira's limbs felt even heavier. She dropped her arms to her sides. More voices in her head, all variations of this stranger's, all repeating the same chants at different intervals. Some soothing, some commanding, all overpowering. The forest was gone. The sunset was gone. Her friends were gone. Tira was alone in an abyss of glowing green light. His hand had a death grip over her face, and all she could see was the magical glow which grew brighter and brighter as the spell took more and more hold.

"Ugh … doing … to …"

Another pulse of energy. Tira fell to her knees. She didn't want to fight anymore. It was too much. The voices, the light, the shadows caressing her. They were alone, but there was an army of him. He only touched her faced, but she felt his hands all over her body. He only spoke with one voice, but she heard a thousand. He was everywhere and everything. She was just Tira. She was nothing.

"… me … ?"

And before the next pulse of energy could course through her body, Tira gave up. She collapsed into a heap, lying motionless at her attacker's feet. The three ravens circling overhead cried out in unison seeing their friend crumble.

Zasalamel rolled his victim over with his foot, and stared down at her prone form. "That was it?" He shook his head in disgust, "I wasn't expecting much from you and your feeble mind, but you still managed to disappoint. Now I see why in my visions 'the Nightmare' does not bother claiming your soul. I can only hope my enslavement spell didn't completely fry that shred of consciousness that passes for your mind and render you a vegetable." From beneath his cloak, he produced a canteen and took a sip. Then he let the water trickle down upon her face, muttering to himself, "I don't know why I bothered with magic when a shiny rock would've enchanted you into undying obedience." And as the defeated girl stirred, Zasalamel commanded, "on your knees slave."

Without hesitation, Tira pushed herself to her hands and knees and then weakly rose as commanded. She stayed motionless with her hands at her sides, staring straight ahead without seeing anything. The Egyptian circled her, waving his hand in front of her face, studying her steady calm breathing and her unfocusing eyes. After a few circumferences, he backhanded her, but she gave no reaction. Her head turned to the side from the momentum, and then she straightened out from the blow. Her eyes still vacant. His hand flew again, but stopped just short of her cheek, and Tira didn't flinch nor blink. She was his, now. Completely and totally his.

"I've lived through more lifetimes than you've lived through days. Across those thousands of years, I've encountered a legion of worthy, even remarkable, warriors who've become forgotten with time. Their accomplishments cursed to vanish into the void of nothingness on account of petty circumstance." Zasalamel began, circling her again. Seeming to grow more and more impatient and disgusted every moment he was around her. "And now as if to taunt me, fate has chosen the most worthless creature to play a key role in my plans. Strong souls? He will absorb and grow more powerful. Worthy souls? He will devour immediately as so they pose no further threat. But you, Tira … no strength can be siphoned from your weak soul, and you pose no threat. He will let you live as his servant because of your weakness.

"Seriously, I've seen animals with more mental resilience than you." He kicked the enslaved girl square in the back, forcing her down to all fours. "Stay down there where you belong. You have the mental capacity of a dog, so that's how you shall be treated. That's what you are. That's what you'll always be."

Staring at the ground, Tira could only obey. "Yes, master."

"You're not allowed to speak, dog. You will acknowledge your commands by barking. Understand?"

Tira barked.

Satisfied, Zasalamel started walking down the road. He snapped his fingers and summoned his new pet, "Come, worthless dog. We have work to do."

Again, Tira barked, and once again Tira crawled, powerless under the Egyptian's spell as they stalked 'The Nightmare.'

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	7. A Slave, A Dog, A Worm

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**07**

"A Slave, A Dog, A Worm"

For fourteen days, Tira stayed at Zasalamel's feet. Crawling like a dog just beside and behind him. At first he tested his spell's hold on her. Degraded her with every spoken word, and in every town they came across he had her enter the local arena battles with instructions to play feeble and lose miserably. And with the arrogant and cocky bastards such contests seem to attract, it was assured that they would not only pound her senseless, but mock, ridicule, and publicly humiliate her before throwing her out like a piece of garbage. And never a trace of indignation nor hesitation surfaced.

Zasalamel would tell her to clean his boots with her tongue, and she would obey. He would tell her to smack herself, and she would. The only times she was ever allowed to stand on her two feet was when she would suffer another devastating defeat in an arena. Zasalamel would sooner lower himself to performing mundane tasks himself than give this dog the dignity of standing up. Even when they crossed paths with bandits, he dealt with them single handedly.

The one time she was allowed to stand (besides the arenas) was another test. She was instructed to rig a noose and hang herself. She tied the knot, tossed it over a tree branch, secured it against a tree trunk, stood up on a pile of debris, and stepped off. Dangling from the end of the rope, she could stop the lynching by reaching up, grabbing the rope, and pulling herself up or even stepping back onto the pile of debris that supported her initially. But she didn't. The fear of death flashed in her eyes, her body tensed, and she bent her legs at the knees as some sort of subconscious side effect while struggling to breathe. But she kept her arms firmly locked behind her; she made no effort to get back on the pile. She allowed the hanging to continue until the noose choked her into unconsciousness. After which, Zasalamel cut her down, satisfied beyond all doubt that she was fully under his power.

"Why did I bother?" He constantly asked himself after each and every test. It was a waste of time using the spell on her in the first place, much less testing her again and again. Her feeble mind nearly shattered from the magician's powerful enchantment. She belonged to him. Permanently. She had no prayer of breaking free. No hope of resisting. Her will was broken. She was broken. Finished. A slave for all time. No, not a slave. She was beneath slavery. She was a dog. A dumb beast of burden barely capable of being domesticated. A dog. Nothing more. And he treated her as such. He wanted to put the miserable bitch out of her misery, but he couldn't. Not yet. Too much hinged on her. She would allow him to get close to, monitor, and control 'The Nightmare.' No, she had to live … for now.

She was only allowed food and water once per day before bed, and she was always forced to eat off the ground or (when she was lucky) out of a bowl just like a dog. She wasn't allowed to use her hands. She had to lower her face to the food, and pick it up off the ground with her teeth. Drinking water, she had to lap it up with her tongue.

For fourteen days, Tira crawled at Zasalamel's feet and her three friends were powerless to help. From town to town they travelled. The Egyptian conducted some business in each town, met with contacts, shady figures who paid her little attention. The terrain looked kinda familiar, but she didn't know for sure and had no way of knowing. But it didn't matter. She was a dog, and a dog need not know where she is. Once he took her to a tower and made her wait outside in the cold rain all night. Strange lights flickered from inside. Eerie lights of every shade of green. Scary and unnatural lights, but a small part of her consciousness still longed to go in. It was dry in there. Out here the icy cold heavy droplettes stung as they struck her. Thousands upon thousands smashed against her soft flesh, drenched her, numbed her, and froze her. But she couldn't go in. She couldn't move. She was a dog, and her master told her to stay. So she stayed.

By morning, she was a pitiful sight. Shaking and shivering uncontrollably, oblivious to the continual trembling whimper that came from her throat. But Zasalamel didn't care. She was beneath his concern. She was nothing.

On the dusk of the fourteenth day, they arrived just outside of a new town. She was instructed to stop while he paced around her in a circle, lecturing her. "It seems I've made a miscalculation, dog. You've become a burden to me. You slow me down, make it difficult for me to remain in the shadows where I belong, and because of this delay we've lost his trail. I can catch him and set the first convergence in motion, but not while carrying a crippled beast of burden with me. So now it has come time for us to part ways for awhile. I will track 'The Nightmare' alone, and fetch you when I am ready.

"In the meantime, you will have no memory of me in my absence. You will go back to being the way you were, allowed to bask in the privilege of human life which you do not deserve. You will carry an overwhelming guilt with you every waking moment because you will know in your heart you belong on all fours. But the moment I return, you will remember everything. You will crawl at my feet once again. Do you understand?"

Tira barked.

"Now, begone," and without mercy, he kicked the broken woman in the face as hard as he could, knocking her out cold. "Worthless," he said disdainfully, stepping on the back of her head and grinding her face into the dirt. He walked across her sexy prone form, wiping his feet on her unconscious body, and decided, "the role of a dog is too dignified for you. This is what you truly are: a worm beneath the feet of humanity." Zasalamel's weight upon her, the unconscious Tira coughed and wheezed and struggled to get air in her lungs. "But fortunately for you, it would be too much of an inconvenience to keep you there. The fates that govern our destinies are cruel and unjust. It's not enough that I must suffer the pain of death endlessly, but to end my hell I must depend upon a miserable worm like you. I will never forgive fate for this injustice," raising one of his boots up, he finished gravely, "and I will never forgive you."

He brought his foot down upon the defenseless girl's back, crushing the worm beneath his feet, and forcing all the air from her lungs. Then he stepped off her onto the road, leaving her there. Gasping for air and completely helpless. "When I have no further need of you, not even the Gods will be able to save your worthless hide from my wrath. And if there is any justice in this existence, then may you suffer my fate and die for eternity, Tira."

…

The world slowly faded into existence from an abyss of blackness. The world spun in blurry streaky circles around her. She had no idea where she was. Jail again? No, can't be jail. She heard muffled but perky conversation and distant but joyous laughter. Did she get put in the stocks in the town square again? No, she rolled over on the soft surface and … were those sheets? Soft sheets? Silk!

_Now I know I'm still dreaming. Maybe I'm dead. Ooh! Maybe I'm in heaven!_

She blinked several times, but the world still spun too fast, was too streaky, too blurry to make anything out. She clutched the coverings, curling up into a ball and pulling it close to the soft skin of her face. It was silk all right. Only silk could feel like this. Like she was floating on clouds. She sighed. And when she breathed in, she could smell fresh bread and … pie? She inhaled the aroma again. Yes, apple pie! She hadn't had pie in forever! It smelled sooooooooo good.

_Yay! You're definitely finally undeniably dead, Tira. Happy happy times for all eternity! _Now if the world would just slow down so she could enjoy it! _Then again, maybe it'll never slow down. Maybe that's what Hell is supposed to be. _Dammit! That would just be her luck!

"Oh, you're awake," a voice said. An old woman's gentle voice. (A sweet voice too!) "I hope I didn't wake you."

Weakly, "am I dead?"

The voice laughed, but somehow Tira knew it wasn't a malicious laugh. She wasn't laughing at her. It was a friendly laugh. A happy nice laugh that meant well. "No child. Why would you think that?"

Tira felt the tentacles of unconsciousness slowly slither around her awareness, and knew she could not fight the mighty leviathan. Sleep would take her again, and soon. The spinning grew faster. She closed her eyes, and weakly rolled over to face in the direction (she hoped) the voice came from. Her voice drifted, "I dunno where I am or how I got here."

"Oh, well, we found you outside of town. You were lying in the road. Looked like you had been robbed and left for dead. We couldn't have just left you there."

"Why not?" She asked in a quiet whisper (all she could manage.) Any second now, and she'd be gone.

"Goodness, child. That wouldn't have been right."

"Thank …" and Tira lost consciousness mid-sentence.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	8. A Home at Last

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**08**

"A Home at Last"

"She's a sweet girl, Curtis," said the old woman as she and her husband watched a group of children frolic with the stranger they rescued just outside of town. "She loves to help around the house, and she's great with the grandkids as well."

Outside, the children raced around in circles in the vast yard, playing a weird version of tag. Tira was 'it' but when she was 'it' it was more reverse tag. She had to elude her pursuers, or else they'd capture her and tickle her until the next person was designated 'it.' Then the game would become normal tag, and 'it' would chase down the next person and tag them 'it' and so it'd continue until Tira was 'it' and everyone would chased her again. But it didn't bother her. It made sense since she was bigger and faster than all the children. Leveled the playing field, so to speak, and kept things fair and fun for her too.

"I know, Agnes, but I'm just saying our son-in-law won't be happy, that's all. He always says she gives him a bad feeling."

"Hmph! Everyone gives that man a bad feeling. He's too suspicious for his own good."

"Well, in his defense Tira isn't normal."

"Oh don't you start too."

"Now, now, I'm not taking his side. I'm not taking any sides. I'm just saying she's different, Agnes. It's like she never grew up."

"I think that's a charming trait."

"Agnes, dear, maturing and holding on to your childhood is one thing, but Tira is something entirely different. Maybe it's not her fault. I'm not saying it is or it isn't, but she never grew up. At all. She really is still a child just like all those kids out there. It's not charming. It's sad." As Curtis spoke, his wife crossed her arms and let out a very audible sigh. "Angus, I'm not saying this to insult the girl. I agree, she's been nice. But unless we understand what's wrong with her, we can't help her—"

"I don't think anything is wrong with her."

"Agnes, I didn't mean it like that." He looked down, rapped his fingers on the table awhile in thought, gathering his words to better express himself. "I don't doubt that if she had the opportunity to mature, she would have. And I think it's tragic that she's lived through whatever past she has and ended up in this state. But do you think it's right to pretend like she's fine? There's a charm to childhood, but isn't there more to life than just that? You don't want to rob her of that, do you?"

Now it was Agnes' turn to remain quiet in thought. She closed her eyes, still seeing Tira and the grandkids outside playing in her mind, smiling with bright faces all of them. So often people lose sight of such simple joys and pleasures as childhood. She herself lost sight of it once. And how she admired Tira for her gift … or curse … but Curtis was right. Ever since that stranger woke up, she sensed something about Tira. That other people wouldn't take kindly to her, that they'd mock her and take advantage of her naivety. That she couldn't make it on her own in her current state. They'd kept her close to the house, away from the cruelty strangers would bring to the poor girl for being different. Agnes had sheltered her, protected her, because deep down she knew Tira couldn't and shouldn't continue with such a juvenile mind.

The old woman bowed her head, and shook it ever so slightly back and forth. Like with her kids and grandkids, she couldn't be here to protect the young woman forever. She had to prepare this one for the world too and then set her free.

But tragic or not, there still was something charming, even delightful, about watching Tira run about and play. A full grown woman enjoying the simple pleasures of life without a care in the world.

When she opened her eyes again and looked out the window, she saw the children had abandoned their game of tag. The kids were awed by Tira's remarkable balance, dexterity, and flexibility. She would gracefully perform a handstand, smoothly transitioning up, walking on her hands a bit, and then ever so seamlessly bringing her feet to the ground in one flowing motion. The children attempted their own handstands, some fell down as children are wont to do, and they were all having a good time.

Agnes sighed. "If only the world could understand you, Tira."

…

Later that evening, Tira closed the door to her room which this old couple had so generously let her use (and even got her comfy pajamas to sleep in!). Setting down her candle on the stand, she quickly rushed over to the window and opened it, looked around, and whistled. A few moments later, her three friends swooped down and perched on the windowsill.

"Hey guys!" she greeted, seating herself on her knees, and scratching each one under their beaks in turn. "Guess what I got for you!"

One chirped and turned its head.

"Guess!"

Chirp chirp!

"Yep! Here you go!" and from behind her back she produced a piece of bread which she broke into three pieces. "One for you, one for you, and one for you. Yummy, isn't it? I helped make it!"

Chirp!

"Did too! You can ask Miss Agnes!" The three birds downed their bread in no time, and fluttered their wings approvingly. Tira beamed and bounced in place, "Glad you liked it! So, hey, I was wondering, what do you guys think of this place? Cause, you know, I was thinking these people have been really nice to me, and Mr Curtis said I could stay as long as I needed to so I was thinking maybe we could settle down here. "

Chirp chirp?

"Oh sure, we could still travel from time to time. I'm not saying we'd stop, but wouldn't it be nice to have a home. You know? A place we can always come back to, and people know us."

Chirp?

"No, it won't be like the guild. Well, maybe kinda-sorta, but not really. I mean, we won't ever get that back, but this is about as close as we can get. The next best thing, you know?"

Chirp chirp!

"All right!" She swept all three up in her arms, and hugged the three birds. "You guys are the best!" She gave each one a kiss on top of its head, then watched them disappear out the window into the darkness. Still beaming, Tira hopped over to her bed playing an invisible game of hopscotch on the floor, and plopped down, pulling the covers over her.

It was a different life than what she was used to with the Bird of Passage, but she knew things wouldn't be the same. That's okay. She never expected to get that back. She might get a chance to be part of the crowd after all.

_The Goddess is still dead, but being a part of the crowd isn't half bad!_

…

Over the next few weeks, the old couple gave Tira more and more exposure to the outside world. As they'd expected, one rowdy clique itched at the chance to harass her. The Korven boys—the three sons of Sir Richard Korven, the richest noble of the town (and the parasitic friends who sponge off them.) They always picked on people who they deemed "outsiders" which was anyone outside their powwow. But Tira didn't seem fazed by them, their rudeness, their catcalls, and their insults. But all those times, either Agnes or her husband (usually both) were nearby. Still, they no doubt wanted to get Tira alone, and no doubt schemed to make it happen. Not a conspiracy caliber scheme by any means. No, they weren't dedicated enough for something like that. But they kept their eyes and ears open for an opportunity to show itself, and should that happen, they'll jump at the chance to exploit it. Then as if reading her mind, Tira smiled and gave her a hug. "It's okay, Miss Agnes. I'll be okay. I'm used to it." And she skipped ahead to pick out some fresh food from the market.

Agnes chuckled to herself. A mystery, that girl was. Sometimes she seemed so young, naïve, and innocent which made Agnes want to protect her like her little grandchildren, and then she'd turn around and say something paradoxically perceptive, observant, and wise. Then Agnes would realize she's quite capable of taking care of herself, making Agnes feel foolish for being so protective. A mystery, indeed. Such a sweet innocent girl.

The old woman eyed the Korven clique, and no surprise, they were eyeing Tira. But it wasn't the boys who would make a move. Sir Richard Korven, himself, would cause trouble today. The blonde haired blue eyed man whacked Tira's hand with his cane as she reached for some carrots.

"Ow! Hey! What's the big idea?"

Agnes and her husband hurried over and got between the noble and Tira, "Is there a problem, Mr. Korven?"

"Indeed, there is a problem. But it's not my problem," the wealthy nobleman said, removing a piece of lint from his fine suit, "you see, you're a year in debt to me and there's nary any sign of you repaying."

"We've had a bad year—"

"That, I can understand. Even sympathize with. But you seem to have taken in a tenant," the noble pushed both Agnes and Curtis aside, and, with his cane, touched Tira's cheek, forcing the shy girl to look up at him, "how much rent are you collecting, and when can you start paying back your debt to me?"

"This girl was robbed and left for dead outside of town. We only did the charitable thing and are helping her get back on her feet."

Korven sneered, "the world has enough peasants, it certainly wouldn't have missed this one."

"How dare you!" Agnes snapped.

"It's okay, Miss Agnes," Tira said, "if I'm causing you and Mr. Curtis any trouble, I can go."

"No," both Curtis and Agnes said in unison. "No, you can stay. We'll figure something out."

"Hey father! How 'bout we take in the girl that way—"

"This filthy rat will come nowhere near my home."

"But—"

And the middle aged noble swung his cane and smacked his middle son good upside the head. Then he twirled around, "now hear this, everyone. From henceforth, you shall refrain from selling anything to these peasants until they have paid me back in full."

Now it was Agnes' turn to protest, "but—"

Richard swung the cane, and smashed the old woman in the head. Curtis immediately went to his wife.

Tira's jaw dropped, "Hey, that was—"

And she too felt the bully's cane on her head. She could have dodged to the side easily. Hell, she could have disarmed the jerk and shoved that cane down his throat, then took on all three of his offspring by herself. But she didn't. She let the cane hit her on the head. She fell down on her butt and cried, and when she pulled her hand away from her injured head, she pretended to faint at the sight of blood. And the Korven clan laughed as Curtis and Agnes carried her away.

And even though her body remained limp, and her face expressionless, inside Tira laughed too …

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_Sorry for the delay. Was a little busy with Summer vacation, 4th of July Weekend, and everything. =)  
_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	9. The Goodness of a Gloomy Gloomy Girl

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**09**

"The Goodness of a Gloomy Gloomy Girl"

Midnight at the Korven estate. Sir Richard Korven awoke to find himself bound and gagged to a chair. His reading chair in the study where he often fell asleep at night reading great fantasy tales (which most men of his stature wouldn't be caught dead with, but fortunately, hypocrisy is an abundant trait at such levels of success.)

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here and how I got in," a voice said. A voice belonging to a dark and blurry silhouette standing next to the fire. A black bird perched on her head, one on her shoulder, and one on her outstretched hand. She brought the small animal close to her face, and it pecked at her nose. She giggled, nuzzled him, and set it free. The other two birds followed suit, all three finding a comfortable spot sitting atop the bookcase upon a curious volume of forgotten lore.

"That was pretty easy!" Tira continued, "First I had to creep across town, making sure no one saw me," and she tiptoed over to one of the fancy columns, then dove behind it. She poked her head out, looked around, and then crept over to the desk and again dove for cover from an invisible patrol. The hidden narrator went on, "then I got to your house, and I had to climb the wall! Easy-peasy"

The woman re-emerged, doing a handstand atop the desk, like the steady turning blades of a windmill, she rose from one side and descend down the other side ever so smoothly. Not even a soft thud as her feet touched the floor again. Then she sat on the desk matter of factly, kicking her feet to and fro as she bounced in place, "and this is when it gets interesting! Cause now! Now I'm in enemy territory! If I were caught on the street, I could pretend to be out for a walk. But not anymore! Now if I get caught, it's to the stocks with her! Give her lashes!" Tira abruptly shot up on the desk, pointing vigorously to someone who wasn't there and she deepened her voice in her best bully sheriff impression, "'Do you know what we do to pretty little girls who go sticking their nose where it doesn't belong?'"

Tira twirled and slithered off desk, hiding behind it again. Hands raised defensively to protect herself from the other role, "'No! No! Not the stocks! Anything but that!'"

She was back up on the desk completing her one woman play, "'Yes, the stocks! Grab her men! Lock her down! Have a good feel while you're at it!'"

And then Tira laughed. She hopped down from the desk, and the impish playfulness of her theatrics seamlessly drained from her demeanor. She approached her captor, Sir Richard Korven, literally melting into a whole new being. Standing in front of her helpless prisoner, she interlaced her fingers and arched them until her knuckles cracked, and the transformation was complete. Now she looked up through her brow with a sinister aura burning around her like the hypnotic tendrils of a fire. Her smile dripped with venom. "Now we play for keeps."

She leaned over the helpless noble. Under another circumstance with another woman he would have appreciated this position which gave him a great view of her cleavage. Even under the dire circumstance, for at least a split second the male impulse cannot help but look and notice a nice rack even faced with certain death. But then the second passed and he remembered where he was, he met her gaze and gulped. Tira just caressed his cheek, gently stroking his face and then she pushed her fingers through his hair. Studying him. Plotting and planning, no doubt.

Then for no apparent reason, she snapped away from him, "but let's pause and come back to that. Let's fast forward to what will happen in the very near future. You will die, and so will your estate. Oh not your three spoiled brats, though." She danced away with fluid velvety movements and snatched up the wine bottle on the little stand and tray next to his chair. "Your sons are going to wake up with blood on their hands and alcohol on their breath," and putting the bottle to her lips, she did more than sip. She threw her head back let the bitter sweet liquid drain into her mouth. Then in a sudden motion (yet still hypnotic in its choreography) she straitened up and spit it all out on Sir Richard Korven. And for a fleeting second, the playful Tira was back. "Good stuff. None for me, though! I get a little rowdy, a little crazy, when I get tipsy!" Like before, the childlike giggles faded away as she gravely and ceremonially poured the rest of the bottle over the bound man's head.

Then Tira straddled her alcohol soaked captive, and slowly and seductively traced his trapped form with her fingertips, "You see, nobody's going to know who killed you. Your three boys are going to think it was one of them. They're going to fight over their inheritance, and with you gone their fighting is going to tear what's left of this estate apart. Despite your wealth, rich bastards like you are always in debt to someone, and that someone deals with you and _only _you. They don't know who owes you money. All they know is, your heirs owe them money, and your heirs can't hardly collect if their necks are being stretched for murder, can they? Even if two or all three of them get off, the name will be ruined. They will be ruined. And your lifetime of work will mean," moving close, she brought her lips to his ear and whispered like a lover's secret promise, "nothing."

Then Tira sat back, grabbed his ears, and twisted them to the breaking point. He screamed through the gag, and when he started to settle down she added, "and all the people in debt to you will be set free."

Letting go Tira, got up and began pacing around the desk, "Now, you might be thinking, 'How can she know this? She's just a peasant. A filthy rat isn't that smart!' And you're absolutely right." Coming full circle around the desk, Tira got down on her knees in front of him. Playing helpless, stupid, and mocking him with her feeble pitiful looks, "Just a stupid weak worthless rat! All I know how to do is eat and sleep and make trouble for hard working _real_ people like you. But, you know, it's a funny thing. I never would have dreamed of doing this on my own. No, I'm too stupid for that. And that," she tapped him on the nose, "is why no one is going to suspect me. A filthy rat would just kill the lot of you. A filthy rat would get caught and hanged … or beheaded," then once again, Tira perked up. She changed from malicious schemer to upbeat wandered right before his eyes, "How do you execute people in these parts? Is it hanging or beheading?" Then she shook her head, and the curious Tira was gone. Replaced by the killer. "Nevermind, that's not important. Anyway, back to my point. I'm not smart enough to come up with a scheme like this on my own … but I knew someone who was. He showed me everything he knew. And you know what? I've had a lot of practice. Best of all, since I am just a stupid peasant, even if someone figures out your kids are innocent, they won't know it's me. Not Tira! She doesn't plan, she _plays_!"

The noble let loose a stream of muffled threats, and Tira raised her eyebrows as though in revelation. She pressed her finger to his gagged lips, "Oh, I almost forget the biggest reason why no one will ever suspect me!" And with that she stood up, hovered over him for a minute, then strolled around the chair swaying her hips back and forth sexily. Just before she went out of view, she said over her shoulder, "Wait here!" Korven's attempts to escape hit a frenzy as he tugged so hard against his bindings that his wrists began bleeding. Had he paid attention, he'd of heard the sounds coming from his blind side behind the chair. A splash, a slap or two, and a sensual beckoning. He didn't notice. Didn't care. She was out of sight, thus out of mind, and all he could do was pull at the ropes. But then Tira reappeared, gracefully leaping up onto the desk where she spun around, licked her lips, pointed, the motioned for someone (or something) to follow. A second later, one of Korven's body guards appeared at his side, "M'Lord are you okay?"

The noble sighed. At last, that purple haired bitch was going to get it. He nodded and, through the gag commanded (mostly nodding and gibberish), his man to kill her.

"Yessir. This won't take long," he said, flexing the muscles in his hand and arms in preparation of tearing the girl limb from limb. "We're gonna hafta scrape your ass off the walls with a sponge when I get through with you."

Tira crossed her arms and shrugged.

The guard went after her and swung with an overpowered series of punches that very well could have put her through the wall. But Tira gracefully and effortlessly slithered out of the way. Her perfect figure just 'flowed' between the blows, her small hands reached up and snatched his arm out of its flight and brought his elbow crashing down against her shoulder as she turned into him. The man went to unleash a scream, and instinctively with his good hand went to cradle his ruined limb; but Tira intercepted it! With viper-like precision, she snatched the unharmed hand out of its flight path, and with all her might brought his wrist against her knee, bending it the wrong way. She held the disfigured extremity against her knee, the back of his hand was pressed securely against his forearm, and another ear shattering shriek erupted from his throat. He was at her mercy, and a satisfied smirk spread across her face as she did a wise guy double eyebrow inflection to the horrified noble who sat watching his only hope crumble.

But Tira wasn't finished destroying hope. Before his lungs got through with that howl of pain, as he tried to cradled not one but two ruined limbs, Tira launched a devastating kick with her well toned dancer's legs and smashed the broken man's groin.

All he could do was double over and gasp as he tried to get enough air to unleash a third wave of screams. Tira, almost casual in her movements, pulled the large man into a headlock, then she gingerly lead her victim over to his employer. "They'll say only a big strong powerful _man_ could take this intimidating fellow down. No way a woman could do it." With her free hand, Tira ran her fingers through her prey's hair as she spoke, "There's no way lil' ol' Tira could snap this big man's neck. No way. Impossible." Her smile widened. And with a subtle but violent jerk, she ended the guard once and for all. The sounds of his agony came to a close with a barely audibly snap from his neck. Then he hung lifeless in her grip, and Tira just stared down, still stroking the dead man's hair in the eerie silence.

She plucked a gray hair, studied it in the candle light, then let it go. The hair gently floated down to the floor, but the corpse it belonged to dropped like a rock. "So where was I? Oh yeah," The sexy vixen then strolled around the room as though none of this was new to her, "back to the beginning of the story. After I climbed the wall, I had to kill three of your four body guards. I'm guessing they're more for show because they weren't very alert or effective. Naturally I had to be more stealthy with the first three. But I left one alive so I could give you this demonstration. Someone at the Bird of Passage, my old guild, once pointed out that 'you're a small woman, Tira. They'll walk right into your traps because they'll always think they can take you.' 'I have six inches on her. I can take her! I have a hundred pounds on her. No problem! What can a little girl do to a big man like me?' And, you know what? It's true. You just saw it! That guard could have ran and got help, but no. What did he do?" She sat on the desk once again, crossing her feet at the ankles right on top of the fallen guard's face. "He kicked my ass, didn't he?"

Then she reached over and picked up the wine bottle again, running her fingers along the smooth glass curves, "that same mentor of mine also pointed out that when it comes to grisly murders, people tend to suspect men because women can't stomach the violence. Straight violence? Maybe. But not mutilation caliber violence. And especially not a woman who faints when bopped on the head or sees three drops of blood." Standing up yet again, Tira approached Sir Richard Korven for the last time, her voice and tone darkening with every passing word. Channeling more and more anger and hatred, becoming more and more volatile despite her surface level calmness. "That peasant girl couldn't have killed them. There's no way that feeble little thing could possibly shatter this bottle over his skull, then shred his fucking face with the remaining shards until he chokes to death on his own eyeball goop."

Tira raised the wine bottle over her head, and her prophecy came true. The Korven boys would wake up with a mean hangover in a pool of booze and their father's blood. The authorities would find the evidence overwhelming against them, leaving only one question: which one did it? A question that would make the greedy three fight one another believing they could gain more inheritance by implementing their siblings which would insure the estate would crumble into chaos. The family name would never recover. And Mr Curtis, Miss Agnes, and everyone else at the Korven's mercy would be free forever.

Tira skipped home, happy as a jay bird, just before the dusk that morning and was back in bed before wakeup call. A pleasant old couple was nice to her, and even though they'd never know it, she repaid their generosity by helping them with their problem. They wouldn't understand the nature of Tira's favor. People never do. But that's okay. They didn't have to know.

_As long as I do what's right in my heart and know I did the right thing, that's all that matters! _

It really did feel awesome being good. Mean people really are missing out.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	10. The Master Returns

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**10**

"The Master Returns"

It took awhile, but eventually things settled down after the mysterious murder of Sir Richard Korven and the collapse of his estate. All three heirs wound up convicted, and all three were sentenced to be hanged but the gallows only claimed one (the eldest.) They stretched his neck to give a sense that justice had been served. Truth be told, he was the lucky one. Official word had it the other two were exiled, but the truth was darker: they were sold into slavery in a far away land to pay off the Korven debt.

That's okay. They were mean nasty brats anyway. Their childish and juvenile pranks would no doubt evolve into vicious and malicious harmful assaults that would destroy people and make entire families miserable. It's better this way.

Anyway, more importantly: now Mr. Curtis and Miss Agnes got back on their feet and were getting along fine. They offered Tira a permanent place in their home so long as she earned her keep, which she happily did (and then some.) Not only that, but she also managed to get along with other people in the community. She even got invited to a birthday party which was tons of fun with games and food and stories and laughter and she got to dance! She had so much fun dancing, and everyone cheered and clapped! It was the bestest day of her life!

But she should have known. It couldn't last. Not with her luck. Not with her life …

"Tira, could you help me in the kitchen? I need you to reach the flour for me," Miss Agnes had said. A short woman, with age creeping into her back and joints. She had a special step stool to reach the high shelves, but Tira could get it down faster. And, besides, Tira didn't mind.

"Okiedokie, be right there!" Tira opened the window so her three feathered friends could stretch their wings outside, and then she quickly went to the kitchen to help. She'd just pulled down the small sack of flour when they all heard the front door crash open. Time stood still for Tira. It didn't take a scholar to know trouble had just entered the household, but a paralyzing knot in her stomach told her it was something more.

Tira wanted to tell Mr Curtis and Miss Agnes to wait here while she went to look, but by then Mr Curtis had already gone to investigate. "Mr. Curtis, no!" Tira cried, and rushed in after him, soon followed by Agnes.

"Who are you?" Mr. Curtis demanded, "What do you think you're doing—"

A familiar voice answered, "I've come to reclaim my slave."

Seeing the dark cloaked figure, Tira stopped in her tracks and wavered dizzily as though her body slammed into a wall after a full on sprint. Her arms dropped to her sides, she fell to her knees, then lowered herself down to all fours where she started to crawl—

"Tira!" Miss Agnes grabbed the girl and stopped her. "Tira, what are you doing?"

"Leave her. She belongs to me," Zasalamel said, snapping his fingers, and Tira tried to answer the summons. But Miss Agnes held on to her and kept her anchored to that spot.

Mr Curtis too went to Tira. The enslaved girl looked straight towards her master with a blank expression, and she regarded nothing else. She whimpered and whined like a lost puppy trapped on a leash.

"Tira! Wake up, honey. Tira!" Curtis slapped her face gently at first, but then struck her harder and harder in a vain effort to snap her out of the trance. But it was no use, and he dared not hit her any harder out of fear of hurting her. The spell had an unbreakable hold on her. Glaring back at Zasalamel, the old man demanded, "What kind of witchcraft is this?"

"None of your concern. All you need know is I have no quarrel with you. Release my slave, and we will be on our way," the Egyptian said, tossing a small pouch on the floor. It clinked with what could only be coins inside. "Compensation for keeping this wretch all this time. She will burden you no more."

"She's not a wretch!" Mr Curtis snapped.

"Nor is she a burden!" Miss Agnes added, "she's a sweet girl, and you can't do this to her!"

Tira reached out towards her master and continued to whimper. Miss Agnes pulled her close to her bosom, rocking the helpless girl in her arms, and whispering, "no, it's okay, Tira. Everything's going to be okay. We're not going to let him take you. It's okay."

"This is your final warning," Zasalamel said. "Release her."

Mr. Curtis stood up defiantly. "You'll have to take her."

"So be it. Slave!" Zasalamel said. Tira tilted her head to the side attentively. And the Egyptian gave his order. "Kill them."

Tira threw her head back, slamming Miss Agnes in the jaw and making the old woman bite her tongue. Stunned, from the abruptness of the attack, she released her hold on Tira and the young dancer leapt up and pounced on Curtis. Before he could respond, she had wrapped her arm around his throat and squeezed his wind pipe.

"Curtis!" Miss Agnes cried out, her words sounding a little slurred having bit her tongue. But Curtis couldn't answer. Only gasps and coughs came from his suffocating vocal chords. Miss Agnes stood up quickly and went to her husband, making a vain effort to pry Tira's arm away from his throat. "Tira! Stop it! Tira!"

"Her mind is gone, woman," Zasalamel intoned. "The vermin you call Tira has no will of her own. She knows only obedience. She belongs to me."

Mr Curtis abandoned his futile efforts to fight the girl and her death grip. She was too strong for his old body to pry off him, too slippery for him to land any kind of elbow or kick. Instead he reached out to his wife, a symbolic plea for help.

Miss Agnes shook her head, "Tira, sweety, fight it! Whatever he's done to you, you can fight it!" She took a step closer, trying to circle around, but the girl turned to keep Mr. Curtis between them as a human shield. "Tira, please! You have to fight it! I believe in you, Tira! You can do it! Please!"

Tira looked at her. For a moment, only one brief moment, they flashed with fear, despair, and sorrow but then it was gone. She ever so slightly shook her head and mouthed the word "sorry". Then her eyes were empty again. No recognition. No emotion. Her grip never let up, keeping Agnes' husband from getting any life-sustaining air, and Mr Curtis grew weaker by the moment. His arms, still outstretched, wavered up and down as he fought with his fleeting strength to keep them up.

"Tira no! Fight it! I know you can! I _know_ you can!" Frantic now, Miss Agnes wrapped her arms around her husband and Tira both (the closest she could get to the enslaved girl). The tears came freely, her voice rose an octave, and the words shot out in a frantic fragmented stream of consciousness, "Listen to me, Tira! I know you're in there! You've got to be! You've just got to be! Whatever he's done to you, you're stronger than that! You can overcome it! You can beat him! Tira, please—Curtis no!"

Her husband went limp, held up only by the slave's firm grip.

"No! Nononono! NO! Oh God, Curtis! Tira, please, let him go! You're killing him!" the old woman swung at Tira's exposed arm, the only part of the girl she could reach, but it was no use. She couldn't hurt Tira. Not enough to make her let go. Tira never raised an eyebrow. Never indicated that Agnes' blows did any damage (doubtful they did). Tira didn't smile, didn't frown. Nor did she flair her nostrils. She didn't even blink. She was murdering Curtis with absolutely no reaction.

Defeated, Agnes turned to the Egyptian and begged. "Please, make her stop! I'll give you anything, just leave us alone!"

But Zasalamel turned his back to her, and, before stepping into the night, gave one final order. "When you're done, burn this place to the ground, slave."

Agnes heard a thud behind her and whirled around. "Curtis?"

And she came face to face with Tira. And, staring into those terrible empty eyes, Agnes saw her own horrible and inescapable fate. She stood paralyzed as the girl raised her hand, and, gulping, the old woman uttered her last words in this world, "fight it, Tira."

She walked in the center of the road, staring straight ahead and never looking back to the town behind her nor back to the bright orange spot on the far side of town. A distant building set ablaze with a thin rising smoke trail reaching into the sky. No, Tira looked straight ahead to the covered wagon at the edge of the forest. She walked right up to the dark cloaked figure standing next to it, and as she went to lower herself down to all fours to kiss her master's feet he reached out with a firm hand and gripped her chin.

"No," Zasalamel said, keeping her on her feet, "We don't have time for you to crawl anymore. Come. There is much that needs to be done, and we can't afford delays."

Tira climbed into the wagon and, like a cat, crawled in a circle before lying down at Zasalamel's feet.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	11. Paradise is a Watery Grave

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**11**

"Paradise is a Watery Grave"

Once again, Tira found herself reduced to something less than human. A servant. A slave. A mere pet. But this time, at least, Zasalamel no longer actively degraded her unless she got in his way. He had raised a new servant from the dead—a skeleton man like something out of a spooky campfire story! "Revenant" he called him. Now her master spent most of his free time perfecting the spell and magic keeping the deteriorating bones animated. So she spent most of her time lying still in the corner of the covered wagon, sleeping. At night she was tied outside and tasked with keeping watch like a guard dog, but that was okay. Revenant kept guard too, but he (it?) got to stand up and make patrols, and she liked looking at the undead abomination. He (it?) was neat.

She was still a slave, still forced to crawl and bark, but at least she wasn't licking boot or being stepped on or insulted or humiliated in town arenas. Besides her three friends stayed with her. When she played guard dog, they'd swoop down and perch on her back and on her head and keep her company. They were such great pals, banding with her even in these dark times.

When morning came, they'd bid farewell and flitter off. Her master would wake up, she'd climb back into the wagon, Revenant would don a cloak and take the reins, and they'd be off again. Then one cold rainy evening she awoke from her nap with a start as Zasalamel callously kicked her out of the wagon and into the muddy road, soaking her instantly. After scrambling and splashing about to get her senses back, she looked up at her master pleadingly, wondering what she'd done. But the Egyptian only pointed …

And when Tira looked around, she found herself by a familiar lake where it always seemed to rain. Dark clouds always hovered overhead. A fog lingered just above the dark waters. "Snake Lake" it had come to be known. First of all, it was a silly name, Tira always thought (but it was fun to say.) Second, it was misnomer, for snakes did not dwell here; however, another breed of reptiles did. A bizarre tribe of feral half-man half-lizard creatures had made their home here by this seemingly haunted body of water. A tribe that seemed to exist in another time—not caring about the treasures of the present world, and the present world did not care about the treasures of the lizardmen. They existed in their own little isolated bubble of utopia, undisturbed … which made their lake the perfect spot to hide something of value.

"Rise, worm," Zasalamel commanded, "go and fetch your weapon."

Tira nodded and stood up. The freezing rain cleansing the mud off her body as she turned and made her way over to the beach. Then she paused—lying in the sand, she spotted three lizardmen, all lying in almost comical positions. The first looked like it had been bopped in the head and fell face first into the mud. The second lay on its back with its arms and legs sticking up in the air. The third one lay in the exact same position a drunken sailor would sit while watching a stripper do her routine. Tira smiled and shook her head. Silly lizards. But then when she looked up she saw more than awkward positions, she saw rain water glistening off rough scales, sharp teeth, and deadly claws. She saw primitive stone and bone weapons at their sides, ready to be snatched up and used on her. She gulped, and started to go around, but—

"What are you doing, slave? I said fetch your weapon!"

Again, Tira gulped, and quietly made her way to the beach … her feet making what felt like super loud squishy sounds as her weight pressed them into the mud, and then when she stepped out it made another super loud suction sound. Squish—shlup! Squish—shlup! The sound echoed in her mind louder than the heavy down poor, and with every step she expected the beasts to wake up and pounce. But she was almost past them. Almost to the water's edge! Almost to safety! Just another ten feet, and—

"Did I say you could take your time?" Zasalamel roared, "Fetch your weapon NOW, slave. NOW!" His angry voice carried across the waters, bounced off their surface, and reflected back in the form of an echo. "Now-now-now-now-now."

Tira closed her eyes.

The lizardmen opened theirs.

"Damn."

Then all at once she sprinted forward. The first lizard snapped up, but she was past him already! The second one saw her coming, and leapt for her. Tira slid on her knees and leaned back, parting the mud and sending a wave of the thick yucky stuff flying to either side of her. Then she hopped up to her feet and kept going. The third and final lizardman swung his club in a massive arc that would've batted her head clean off, and the sly devil also swung his tale low in case his opponent managed to dodge the first blow; however, Tira managed to time a jump just right. Too low for the club to hit, and just high enough to make it over his tail. She rolled, popped up, and (covered in mud) continued sprinting until she was deep enough to dive into the water.

And as always, the temperature of the first three feet was biting cold, the next foot (along her leg) she could feel the temperature of the water rise, and the water below five feet (where her foot could just feel) was quite pleasant. She swam, diving down to the warm waters and swimming for as long as she could hold her breath, then back up to the surface where the colder waters were.

Out of danger and into the fog. Whether these lizard creatures didn't like water, or didn't like these weird eternally-foggy (forever rainy) waters with flaky temperatures, she didn't know. All she knew was, they avoided the lake. Then, after a dozen minutes of swimming guided by the happy chirps of her three friends, she came to "the last stand" as she called it. A metal pole that protruded from the waters, standing quietly amidst the fog. She found her footing on a platform just below the water, and stood up atop the water's surface. Her friends flew down and landed on her, one on either shoulder and one atop her head.

"Thanks. You guys are the bestest!" she said, taking a moment to sigh, unwind, and scratch each beneath their beaks in turn, "I dunno what I'd do without you."

Alone, surrounded by fog and water, rain pouring down, Tira arched her back, stretched her arms, and enjoyed her momentary pause away from her captivity and slavery. Her master would, no doubt, punish her for taking too long, but he'd do that no matter what. Might as well take her time, get something out of this, and _deserve_ the misery. She leaned against the pole, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

The last stand … an old castle from a long time ago, for whatever reason waters flooded the whole estate—gardens, stables, the structure itself—everything. Now, little remains of the actual building. The wooden doors and furniture had long ago rotted away. The greenery passed away to underwater flora (some of which glowed in the dark!) Much of the stone eroded or crumbled. And now she stood atop one of the last remaining walls of the second floor. She imagined this room used to be a great hall a mighty Lord would bring his guests into to impress them. With her eyes still closed, Tira could imagine large mirrors lined with gold, carefully sculpted statues towering on either side with the massive columns, the floor, walls, and ceiling delicately painted. And dozens and dozens of intricate banners hanging from the poles just like the one she leaned against.

She imagined herself standing in that great room in one of those long flowing dresses with the tight bodice that pushed her breasts together and showed them off. And her hair done up perfectly and held in place with ribbons and a decorative mini-dagger that she could cut rude people's throats with (then cut them again if their blood stained her pretty dress). Tira smiled as her day dream went on to show rich suitors bowing before her, kissing her hand, formally courting her through silly "chivalrous" gestures polite society is known for (which it never actually does, but is known for none-the-less.) She giggled at the thought. She didn't want to live that life by any means; she'd watched other people go through the hollow gestures of going to plays, operas, symphonies, formal parties and gatherings all while a Goddess playing a slave in the Bird of Passage. Nope, not for her. Not in a million billion years. But she always thought it'd be fun to spend a day in that life. If nothing else, just to laugh at everyone and mock them at the end of the day.

Then Tira opened her eyes from her fantastic vision of grandeur to the bleak rainy and foggy reality around her. The pole was bannerless. The Lord's castle lay in a watery grave. Some Lizardmen wanted to kill her, and her evil cruel hateful master wanted to step on her. And despite the doom and gloom, Tira straightened up with a hop, "Well, wish me luck guys!" And as she jumped up to dive into the abyssal waters, her the three black ravens stretched their wings and took flight.

Barely disturbing the lake, Tira's sleek and sexy figure slithered beneath the surface.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	12. The Ring Blade

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**12**

"The Ring Blade"

With her right hand pressed against the wall, her left hand outstretched in front of her, Tira swam down the old sunken remains of an ancient castle, slowly letting her held breath out one teeny bubble at a time. She swam down until she touched the floor, then forward until she met the wall, hanging left until she reached the door to the stone stairs spiraling down and into an abyss of utter black.

She continued to follow the wall clockwise into the new chamber until her fingers touched a candle holder who had not held a candle in decades. She pressed her feet against the wall, sprang off with her arms outstretched, and passed through the center of her beloved Ring Blade, caressing its harmless interior with the gentle touch of her fingertips. On the other side, she did a flip, and planted her feet to the chamber's floor, her arms outstretched to either side where she took a bow to an invisible audience and said, "Thank you!" As always, the sound came out funny in a stream of bubbles, and she started to float up as human bodies are want to do when not actively swimming down.

Tira backtracked to her Ring Blade, and disengaged it from the three chains anchoring it in place. Three devices that looked (and felt) like locks, but were really subtle puzzle mechanisms which, if held and twisted and turned just the right way, would open up. The Bird of Passage used them all the time, so she could work them blindfolded (and holding her breath) no problem-o. Free of its chains, the Ring Blade slide over Tira's sexy figure, resting upon her right shoulder, and her soul was complete once again.

…

Tira emerged from the waters of Snake Lake, a small wave of the cold liquid flowed off her curves as she stood in the waist-deep waters, walking ominously up the beach, her body and ring blade glistening in the dimly lit fog. The three Lizardmen jumped up at the sound of her footsteps splashing in the water; they grabbed up their primitive weapons, and rushed towards her.

Tira giggled. But not a playful giggle. Oh no, an evil one.

As the lizardmen closed in, she rushed forward two steps, leapt up, brought the Ring Blade beneath her feet, and kicked out with it. She connected with the first lizardman's face, knocked him down, and rode his snout like surfboard, grinding his head deeper and deeper into the mud. Stomping on her downed opponent, she leapt forward and spun around, ready for the next assault.

The next two lizardmen came at her at the same time, swinging wide to either side hoping to bring their clubs together and crush Tira in the middle. But Tira stabbed the ring blade into the sand, and slide through its center, kicking the reptile to her left. Both clubs struck the circular shield around her, and the blade cut into the bone weapons making them stick. Tira scissored her legs around her target's legs, and brought him down on the ring blade, and gravity made sure the sharp edge cut deep into its throat. She hopped up and snatched up her weapon just as the third lizard got its club free. It tried to do a backflip and kick Tira, then whack her with its tail, but she stood back, letting the whole routine pass harmlessly by, and then she sliced the tail clean off. The creature landed less than gracefully on his face.

The first lizard peeled itself out of the mud, and rushed Tira again. Swinging high, and Tira went low to the ground, sweeping with both feet and knocking the creature off its feet. And with no immediate impending attacks coming her way, she could finish him off. She did a summersault and drove her ring blade (powered by her heel) into the creatures chest and a small splatter of blood flew up and briefly stained Tira. But not for long. Not even two seconds later the rain had washed her skin clean.

The second lizard, the one with the deep throat wound, slowly picked itself back up, but was in no condition to attack. She casually strolled over to it, and as it raised its weapon she jammed her fingers into its open wound. The creature let out an inhuman shriek and dropped its weapon. It cried out in agony, and Tira smiled brightly. It glared, bared its claws and fangs, and came down on Tira. But she dropped to her knees and curled up into a ball inside the ring blade, and once again that lizard came down upon her weapon, slicing its own wrists and mouth and tongue.

It crumbled, no doubt to bleed to death and never rise up again. Tira straightened up and chuckled. "Stupid lizard." As the last of the enraged beasts rose up behind her. "Just don't know when to give up."

The last lizard came in with a predictable rage-induced overhead attack, trying to pound Tira into the ground like a stake. Tira actually yawned as the beast closed in, sighed as the attack sped for her head, the effortlessly repelled the club. Not only repelled it, smacked his weapon away with enough force to send the creature momentarily off balance, its club aimed up at the sky, leaving the whole length of the beast vulnerable to Tira's whims. And Tira pounced immediately. She leapt up onto the beast, kicked it square in the chest, and rode him down to the earth. Still standing on her conquered foe, towering above him, she began spinning her ring blade around her arm. Spinning it like a buzz saw. And then slowly, Tira started to lower it to the lizard's face.

It squirmed beneath her, but could not topple her as the blade inched its way closer and closer.

"STOP!" Zasalamel commanded, and with a twirl Tira made the ring blade spin up her arm and around her body, coming to a rest upon her shoulder. Her master snapped his fingers, and pointed to the sand in front of him. Tira immediately went to her master, laid her weapon at his feet, and lowered herself to all fours on the very spot he pointed. "The time you took was unacceptable, you worthless maggot, and you shall pay dearly, but not here," The Egyptian grabbed up her ring blade, and headed back to the wagon, snapping his fingers for his pet to follow. Tira barked pathetically and obeyed, climbed up into the wagon, and they were off again.

The lizardman fled.

Hooking the scythe under Tira's chin, Zasalamel brought his pet to her knees, grabbed her hair, and pulled her head back forcefully (on the verge of ripping her hair out). With his other hand, Zasalamel covered Tira's face and spoke, "You are still bound to me, but for a moment you are free to express your emotions—your displeasure, your dissent in the quiet expressions on your face. The rest of your body, your voice—everything else—still belongs to me. But for now, you have temporary freedom and control over your face." And when he slid his hand down, the blank expression was gone and Tira glared death, destruction, and despair at Zasalamel.

"Excellent," he said, "I was afraid my spell had completely destroyed your mind. But I'm glad to see it intact, imprisoned, and helpless."

Lacking a voice, Tira mouthed the words, "Go to hell."

And Zasalamel laughed. "I live there every day, maggot. Especially with you nearby, you disgusting excuse for a human being. I contemplated releasing you when I was done, but after this failure—"

"I didn't fail!" Tira quietly snapped.

"—I have decided you do not deserve a reprieve. And you have no idea how glad I am that you are still alert and aware and utterly powerless beneath my spell. Well, now Tira, now I shall share with you your fate. I will tell you how your tale ends. Once I have no more use for you, a day which will not come soon enough, once I gain the ability to die once and for all, I will make one last journey in this world. And I will take great pleasure in bringing you back to this very lake. I will take you just outside the nest of those Lizard creatures … and I will order you to remain motionless on your knees."

Tira's eyes went wide, and she gulped as the implications set it.

"Yes, you'll be helpless as you watch them wake up, watch them approach you, circle you in curiosity, and eventually the one you did not kill will step forward." Zasalamel then leaned in close to Tira's ear and whispered, "And the lizards will tear you limb from limb, and with your own ring blade in hand, you won't be able to even blink. Your end will be as pathetic as your life."

"No," Tira mouthed.

Zasalamel towered over Tira, looking down on the helpless girl, smiling victoriously. "And if there is any justice, the Gods will punish you for helping to set me free ..."

"Please," Tira soundlessly begged, her eyes pleading.

"… and if there is any justice, you will be doomed to be reborn and live a chain of increasingly pathetic lives, each more painful than the one before …"

Tears ran down Tira's cheeks and her lips quivered.

Zasalamel passed his hand over Tira's face, and she stared straight forward with empty expressionless eyes once again. But it didn't matter. Zasalamel knew deep down, she could hear him. He knew deep down, she could see, understand, and her pride, ego, and soul raged and screamed for freedom that would never come. He laughed knowing she suffered lacking even the ability to express her eternal crushing defeat.

And as he threw his defenseless slave to the floor of the wagon, shoving her into the corner with his foot, he said, "If there is any justice, you will suffer FOREVER!"

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	13. Lessons for a Jaded Juvenile

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**13**

"Lessons for a Jaded Juvenile"

The wagon came to a halt outside a ruin of a castle that towered high above the landscape on a treacherous cliff (which claimed half the fortress in some sort of earthquake or landslide once upon a time). A burst of lightening flashed behind the structure, reducing it to a mere silhouette before the earth trembled with thunder.

Ostrheinsburg.

"Grab your weapon and come. On your feet," Zasalamel snapped his fingers, and his pet Tira obeyed. Walking for the first time since her enslavement (in Zas' presence at least), Tira obediently followed behind her master, looking around curiously and taking her new surroundings in with a child-like fascination (as much as she could afford, anyway.) She had to stay close to her master. She walked with the ring blade around her neck , wearing it like an oversized necklace or a kind of weird metalic cape.

Fading footsteps marked the mud with the presence of others, their tracks disappearing into the forming puddles of water. The Egyptian left the undead Revenant to guard the front gate and the wagon. Meanwhile, he lead his pet ventured into the ruin, through the mighty doors which hung forever ajar. On their frame, and in the stone, one could see impressions where heavy blades struck. Through a roofless corridor they marched, up two flights of stairs, through a surprisingly well preserved great hall, and then out into the courtyard which ended abruptly at the cliff about 50 feet in. Any decorative flora having long since passed away, replaced by weeds and overgrown vines that grew up between the stones.

Off to the side, a little girl sat on her knees crying by the form of a fallen man. Sensing her company, she slowly eased herself towards the rapier a few inches away. And in the center of the courtyard, lay the remains of an oversized shattered sword with what looked like … a giant eyeball? A giant bleeding eyeball! Tira furrowed her brow, and tilted her head. She started to circle the strange gooey sword, but Zasalamel shooed her away. "Deal with those vermin, maggot," he commanded and began setting up … Tira had no idea what he was setting up by the sword, but she wanted to find out.

However, he gave her a command, and thus she must obey. Her focus fell on the only two souls in the courtyard. A blonde haired man lying motionless in a puddle of blood and rainwater, and the red-headed girl rising to her feet, a rapier in her hands. With her own ring blade still around her neck, Tira strolled towards the little girl, a sideways smirk on her face.

"I'll kill you," Amy declared.

And Tira raised an eyebrow.

Amy lunged forward, just like she'd seen Raphael do … but this strange woman gracefully dashed to the side, brought her circular sword from around her neck into her grasp, and deflected the attack. The parry threw Amy off balance, and sent her tumbling into a puddle of water behind the older woman.

Tira twirled around and curtsied. Amy sprang up and swiped at her, more from desperation and rage than an attempt to mimic her elder parent-ish figure.

Again, Tira wove her ring blade around the thin Spanish weapon, and flung the little girl behind her. This time she managed to take the youth off her feet and make her land on her back with an audible splash. The villainess brought a hand to her mouth and giggled.

Amy bit her lip, glared death, stood up and pushed her drenched bangs out of her face. Then she charged at Tira, taking the rapier into both her hands and swinging the weapon more like a massive war hammer than the precise duelist weapon it was. Tira smiled and shook her head, letting her ring blade slide down and off her body. At the last second she hopped forward and caught Amy by her wrists, and headbutt the child, putting her down on her back, moaning from the dizziness.

The rapier now in Tira's grasp, the older woman straddled the youth, pinning the girl's arms beneath her strong dancer's legs, and Tira used the tip of the Spanish sword to clean the dirt out from under her fingernails. Once her senses returned, a rain-drenched Amy squirmed beneath Tira's weight, but it was no use. She was trapped, and not going anywhere. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and in a low tone said, "just get it over with."

"You're quite the jaded doom and gloom type," Tira said, examining her fingernails, blowing on them, and rubbing them on her soaked shredded top before glancing them over again.

"The world is doom and gloom."

"Some days." And nonchalantly, Tira tossed the rapier over her shoulder. It clanged against the stone floor behind her.

"Everyday." She snapped. "If you don't see that you're an idiot."

Wham! Tira's right fist descended and forcefully connected with Amy's face. "If that's true, then you must want to die to get away."

The blow turned Amy's head to the side. She looked up at her elder, eyes wide with disbelief and watering from the burning in her cheek. Did she really just punch her like that? A little girl like her? No! She couldn't cry. She had to keep it together. "Like I s-said, just k-kill me and g-get—"

Wham! Now Tira's left fist gave Amy's other cheek a natural rouge and sting. "I will," Tira answered, straightening out the young girl's head with her left hand while drawing her right fist back for another blow. "One punch at a time." Wham! "I'll kill you."

Hyperventilating, Amy closed her eyes tight and shook her head.

Wham! "What's the matter little girl?" Wham! "Too much doom and gloom for you?" Wham!

"Please—"

Wham! "I thought you wanted this." Tira raised her fist up while Amy's struggles reached a pitiful climax. She bucked, squirmed, convulsed, as much as she could, but she could not free herself. Her body stayed securely pinned beneath Tira's. Tira threw her head back and laughed maniacally. "Ha! I knew it! You wanted to come across all mature and adult, but you're still just a spoiled brat—"

"No—"

Wham!

Amy sniffled and whimpered, she tried to turn her head to hide her tears.

"You're right. You're not a brat—you're a baby—"

"Please—"

Wham! "Little fucking cry baby."

"P-please—"

Wham! "Well, if you're not a cry baby, then let's see you prove it. I know!" And Tira reached down, grabbing Amy by the ears and twisting them as far as they'd go. Twisted them to the brink of tearing them off. She lifted Amy's head off the ground, and lowered herself to the child's face. "I'm going to bite your nose off!" Tira said, opening her mouth, and closing her teeth around Amy's cute little nose.

The little girl's struggles returned with renewed vigor. She looked like she went into epileptic seizures with how much she fought and bucked. But she couldn't raise Tira's weight off her. She couldn't topple the woman. Could barely budge her. Tira bit down, just hard enough to hurt, and she started to grind the little girl's nose between her teeth. Ears painfully pinched, Amy couldn't even turn her head. It felt like any second the psycho would snap away, ripping her half her face off. Her pleading broke down into desperate cries and whines which sounded absolutely pathetic in their total surrender and absolute begging. Biting down harder, Tira started to pull away, as if to take poor Amy's nose with her. The girl yelped, and Tira gave one final devastating bite before letting go. Sitting up straight, and bouncing in place (crushing poor Amy beneath her).

"I'm just going to start with your nose. Then I'm going to bite your ears off one at a time, and then," Tira released Amy's ears, and the girl's splashed back down against the wet stone ground. Tira tapped Amy's eyelids, "then I'm going to bite off these so I can see your pretty peepers all the time, and then," Tira tapped Amy's lips, "these have to go so I can see your pretty smile, and _then_," Tira, with viper-like speed pinched Amy's tongue and drew it out of the girl's mouth. With her other hand, Tira made a fist and pushed it against Amy's jaw, forcing her teeth to clamp down on her own tongue. "Then Ima gonna uppercut you right here, and you Missy, aren't getting into the good parties anymore."

Amy bawled, shaking uncontrollably, and begging Tira through her pitiful sobs (as best she could with her tongue trapped.)

But Tira only laughed, pulling the girl's tongue and lifting her head off the ground. She was utterly helpless. "Oh, but I have to do it! You're not a cry baby! You can take it!"

Amy shook her head as best she could.

"Oh, I'm confused." Tira said, finally letting go. Yet again, Amy's head smacked against the wet stones. Tira continued, "One minute you're all mature, playing with the big girls and the next you're a pathetic little emotional wreck!"

Eyes shut tight, Amy quietly begged.

"I guess you better tell me what you want me to do. Now, listen closely, because these are your only two options, okay? Hey! Stop it! I said stop it! Settle down! Now listen, or you'll piss me off, and things will get dark."

It took her a bit, but the little girl eventually calmed down enough to stop crying, to stop shaking, and to listen to her conqueror.

"Here's your choices—your _only_ two choices. You will pick one and repeat what I say exactly or else I'll have to get 'creative' with you. Understand?"

Amy nodded frantically.

"Good, now, option one. Tira, I'm a big girl. I want you to ruin my face forever and bite off all my cute features so I can wear them as a necklace—"

Amy started shaking her head frantically, whimpering.

"OR, hold your horses—just settle down! Or, option two. Tira, I'm just a pathetic little cry baby. I want you to break my face with your bare fists and teach my whiney tail a lesson on adulthood."

The girl pleaded with her eyes.

"One or the other, little girl. That's how we big girls play ball."

Amy continued to shake her head.

Tira laughed, cracked her knuckles, and twisted Amy's ears again, "Well, time to get creative—"

"NO!" Amy shrieked. "No! Please-please—"

"Pick one!"

"Please!"

"NOW!"

"Tira," Amy gulped, "I'm just a little cry baby—"

"Pathetic little cry baby—"

"I'm just a pathetic little cry baby! A-and I w-want you t-to …" but she couldn't get it out.

Tira started to lean down, her mouth open, baring her teeth.

"And I want you to break my face! Break my face! With your fists! Break my face!"

"And?"

"A-and … I—"

"And teach—"

"And teach me a lesson."

"Teach my whiney tail—"

"Teach my whiney tail a lesson! Please!" And she closed her eyes, turned her head, and braced herself for the punishing onslaught coming her way.

Tira leaned all the way down so their noses and foreheads touched, stroking Amy's tear-stained cheeks and running her fingers through the girl's crimson hair. Tira smiled, a strangely sincere smile. She kissed Amy on the forehead, on the nose, on the cheeks, and then gave her a long extended kiss on the lips. "Remember, as crappy as your little world may get, the adult world is always a thousand times worse. Your childhood isn't dead. Even if it is just a teeny-tiny itty-bitty sliver. Grab it, hold onto it, and enjoy what little you have left. One day you'll have to let go, but not today …"

And Tira straightened up (but still pinning Amy), she sighed as she arched her back and stretched. Across the courtyard, Zasalamel performed a ritual Tira didn't understand by the weird eye-ball sword. There were nifty spheres and rings of green-glowing energy and tendrils of … Tira didn't know what it was. Looked kinda like foggy fire just hovering over the sword. Anyway, several feet away from the neat magic, the unconscious man started stirring in a much less fantastic manner. He looked like every other guy waking up, which wasn't terribly attractive or pretty to look at.

So Tira cracked her knuckles, then looked down at the still helpless youth. "Today, I teach you what it means to play with the big girls and boys." Her fist came down and once again devastated the helpless Amy. Wham!

"Amy!" Raphael cried as his senses returned.

"Maybe this'll motivate you to go back and be a kid again." Wham! Wham!

"You bitch!" The man tried to rise to his feet, but too weak, he quickly crumbled, "Leave her alone!" He tried crawling, but he couldn't get there in time

Tira glared at Raphael, daring him to try and stop her with a wicked smile. She raised both fists up, preparing to unleash a final destructive barrage on the utterly helpless girl. "Because being an adult sucks!" And the blows rained down on poor Amy. Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham!

Raphael cried as he struggled to intervene, but, weathered from previous battles, he could only watch as Tira silenced the youth and put her to sleep. Amy's chest barely rose and fell when Tira finally rose up, grabbed her by the ankle, and dragged the destroyed child over to the cliff's edge—

"NO!" Raphael again tried standing, fell to his hands and knees, and had to crawl … but he couldn't get there in time.

Tira crossed her arms and laughed as she stood over Amy's prone body, her foot planted on the unresponsive girl's chest. As Raphael made his way over, when he was just within reach of lashing out at Tira, she rolled the unconscious girl over the edge.

"Amy!" The Frenchman lunged after her, grabbing hold of the girl's wrist, and holding on … under the shadow of Tira, completely unable to defend against her and keep Amy from falling.

"Might as well let her go, sweety," Tira said, planting her right foot in the center of Raph's back. "Both of you are going over." And as Tira stepped up and over Raphael, she kicked him in the face as hard as she could, and snapped his head to the side. Battered and weak from his wounds, he was out like a candle doused in the sea. His grip went limp, and Amy fell into the black abyss below. A quiet splash echoing its way up the cliff. Tira slid her foot under the man, and rolled his worthless hide over the edge too. "And neither of you pathetic losers are climbing back up anytime soon."

Tira collected the rapier, and dropped the final remains of the Sorels over the edge. Tira waved into the dark abyss, and venomously said, "au revoir, good bye, and good riddance."

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	14. The Awakening of a Nightmare

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**14**

"The Awakening of a Nightmare"

"What the hell have you done?" Zasalamel roared.

Tira spun around wide eyed. "Wha—"

The Egyptian stormed up to her, grabbed her, and threw his slave down on all fours. He slid his scythe beneath her, then stepped on her back, slowly easing her down upon the blade. "Did I tell you to throw them over the cliff?"

Less than an inch away from that blade, Tira pleaded. No, she couldn't plead. She wasn't allowed to plead. All she could do was whine like an animal in trouble, for her master forbid her from talking.

"Did I?"

Tira felt the blade poke her breastbone. She shook her head vigorously.

"Then why did you? I needed their souls to feed to the Nightmare!"

Tira gulped as the scythe drew blood, as he put more and more pressure on her, and the blade dug deeper into her skin. And being forbidden from speaking, she could not give a valid answer without angering him (possibly provoking more wrath) and they both knew it. All she could do was shrivel up into a ball, and make herself into the most pitiful sight she physically could while whining and whimpering for mercy. His foot came off her back, and she half expected the Egyptian to finish her off and violently kick her into the scythe blade, impaling her and killing her. But he didn't. He slid the weapon out from under her, and kicked her in the rear, sending her face first into a muddy puddle.

"Go!" He commanded, "I will reawaken the Nightmare before nightfall, and when he rises he will need sustenance. Fetch me souls that I may feed to him and sustain his being so this ritual will not be in vain."

Tira scurried over to her ring blade, fetched it, and then quickly disappeared out of the courtyard as fast as her legs would take her. No doubt, Zasalamel would be looking for any excuse to make her miserable. Outside the castle proper, she didn't even stop to bid Revenant farewell or wave (not that he (it?) cared, but Tira just liked to get close and marvel at the walking skeleton). Once she'd gotten into the forest, under the cover of foliage, and out of sight of the castle, she whistled and her three friends descended and flew close by. "Oh my God! Did you see that?"

Chirp!

"I know! I thought I did a good job!"

Chirp chirp!

"Thanks! Do you really mean it?"

Chirp!

"He did! All he said was 'Deal with them!' Isn't that ridiculous? If he wanted me to keep them in the courtyard, he should have said," And Tira stopped, put one hand on her hip, pointed, and lowered her voice for her Zasalamel impression (which was actually pretty accurate), "Deal with them, Maggot, don't throw them over the cliff! Keep them here! Kick their asses all over the courtyard, but make sure they stay in the courtyard!"

Tira spun and faced the other direction, hopping into a new character that saluted the first. "Aye! Aye! Captain!"

She twirled again, melting into Zasalamel-mode, "And when you're done, you can go fetch a stick or something like the mongrel you are!"

Back into her own character, hands planted on her hips, Tira glared at her invisible slave driver. "Yes, master, but one day you're going to get what's coming to you! A knight in shining armor always comes to save the princess, and bad men like you always get it good in the end!"

"Insolence!" Tira whirled into her Egyptian Master impression, "You dare speak out of turn? Let me remind you of your place! Down on all fours and clean my boots, bitch!"

Finally returning to herself, Tira sighed and dropped her head, "yes master" and she continued along the path.

Chirp chirp!

"Really? Do you mean that?"

Chirp!

"Thanks! I've always wanted to be an actress!"

Tira giggled, and skipped along the forest path, bearing down on the town at the bottom of the mountain in the shadow of the mighty castle.

After an hour's journey, her friends chirped letting her know a big something approached up the road. She stopped, and let her ring blade slide off her body and fall to the ground around her feet where it sank into the water and out of sight. Then she dug her foot a little bit into the soft muddy road, just enough to inch her foot under her weapon, ready to kick it up into her grasp on command.

Just as she finished she heard a string of Splish-splash-splish-splashes of a horses' hooves and the rattle and rumble of wagon wheels and before too long a gypsie caravan appeared on the road in front of her, coming to a stop.

_What luck!_ Tira thought. _I like gypsies. They always have neat outfits and cool jewelry! I'll be a good slave and get prizes!_

"What's this about? What are you doing in the middle of the road?" The driver of the first wagon called out as he stood up. A few passengers of that wagon and the others poked their heads out the window to see what was causing the delay.

Tira waved and in a perky voice greeted, "Hi! I'm Tira!" Smiling wickedly …

…

A single carriage pulled up to the castle. Tira at the reigns. Splish-splash-splish-splash went the horses hooves into the wet road as she steered it right up to master Zasalamel's wagon, and she hopped down, waving at the unmoving skeleton. "Hey there! I got new clothes and jewelry! See!" Tira twirled, did a brief tap-dance (splash dance in water?), then twirled and bowed. "Don't worry, I got something for you too!" She hurried over and put a trinket around the skeleton's neck, and tucked it into its armor, "I wanted to get you a hat or something, but I figured our master," Tira rolled her eyes, "would throw it away."

Revenant stood still, staring straight ahead.

"I did get one for you though! I'm savin' it for later! Maybe when our 'master' is done, he'll be nice and let us both go, and I'll give it to you then. Okay? Maybe we can travel together, you think?"

No answer.

"I'll take that as a yes. Anyway, back to work. I'm gonna be spending tonight face-deep in mud, I just know it. Can taste it already. Think ya can help me?"

The silent guardian didn't move.

Tira pouted, stomping her foot (splashing in the mud) and crossing her arms, "No fair! You get the easy jobs!" She sighed and brightened up, "that's okay. You're still cool. I have to admit, you're cooler than me. Wish I were a skeleton …" she kicked a rock and it plopped into the mud a few feet away. "If I get to be as cool as you are, will I get to stand guard—uh oh, I think someone's waking up."

The girl wandered back to the carriage, kneeling down to pick up a rock out of the muddy waters. She opened the door, spotted her groggy prisoner in the pile of sleeping uglies (and beauties), bopped him on the head, then tossed the rock over her shoulder. Lastly, she started the slow process of dragging these people one by one into the courtyard and tying them up in a circle around her master's ritual. An exhausting and time consuming endeavor for which her only thanks were an onslaught of merciless insults from an impatient Zasalamel. But eventually she had dragged every last gypsy into the court yard and tied them up.

Stones had been arranged in a circle around the creepy eyeball sword and some armor remnants, and torches had been rigged to stand up along the circumference, each burning with an eerie green flame that yielded a putrid violet smoke. A smoke that seemed to linger in the courtyard, creating a faint haze, and felt like it left a thin film on her skin that made her feel yucky.

"On your knees, maggot," Zasalamel commanded, and Tira obeyed, wondering what abuse he planned to unleash upon her this time. But to her surprise, he only grabbed her by her soaking hair and pulled her head all the way back so he could talk to her. "Your first loyalty will forever be to me. You will yield to me first and foremost. But I will now leave you to do the bidding of this creature, Soul Edge" and he gestured to the freaky sword. Tira tilted her head and looked on, mouthing those two words quietly.

Soul Edge? Wasn't that just a myth? A ghost story to explain the weird plagues of late? 'Sorry, little Timmy, the evil sword killed your daddy; it wasn't that he was a fat bastard who drank himself half to death then slept with a disgusting puss-infected whore.' A boogeyman to explain spontaneous bursts of madness in people? 'No, your husband wasn't a homicidal maniac, ma'am. The evil sword made him do it!' No, there couldn't be an evil sword. That was just crazy! She wasn't the brightest person on the planet, but Tira wasn't stupid enough to believe an inanimate object could possess people. What kind of superstitious nonsense could . . .

"The Nightmare will be reborn. You will be loyal to him. You will obey him. You are mine, but I temporarily give you to him. Do you understand?"

Tira barked.

Releasing his pet, Zasalamel took one of the gypsies and dragged the unconscious man over to the ritualistic circle, slit his throat, and let the blood drip down onto the sword, onto the eye, into the heart of Soul Edge.

Slowly, the muddy waters of the courtyard began to swirl around the sacrifice. As the blood dripped steadily down, the torches flames changed from green to red. The hazy cloud of smoke seemed to darken. The body of the gypsy shriveled before Tira's very eyes as if decades worth of age and decade swept over the corpse in mere seconds.

And then, the eye of Soul Edge blinked, and looked around . . .

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	15. A New Master

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**15**

"A New Master"

"Oh shit," Tira said in disbelief, completely oblivious to the fact she said it and disobeyed her master's ultimatum that she only bark (but fortunately, Zas was too occupied to notice either.) A sword with an eyeball? Not like metal shaped into an eyeball, but an actually working eyeball with dilating pupils and an iris and blood vessels and eyelids!

_It's real!_ Tira thought, feeling nothing but shock. No despair over its dark history and the implications of its future, no anxiety or desire for its power. _Soul Edge is real!_ Just pure shock. Maybe other bedtime stories and boogeymen were real too?

A desperate cry broke Tira's concentration from the impossibility in front of her. The Egyptian went from gypsy to gypsy, savagely driving his scythe blade into their prone unconscious bodies. Sometimes they'd let out a pain filled ear-shattering shriek and descend into oblivion on the chorus of screams and agony, and others mercifully died instantly and quietly. It was a horrific sight regardless, one that made even Tira shudder. Sure, she killed people too, and yeah she could be brutal, and yes she punched the snot out of a little kid, but … but the people she killed _deserved_ it (and that kid was just a brat who'd thank her later!) The people Tira took out were evil meanies who got what was coming to them! But these gypsies? They didn't deserve this.

(They didn't deserve Tira robbing them either, but that's beside the point. She didn't commit _this_ atrocity!)

She glared at Zasalamel as he worked, as he ripped his scythe free and chunks of gore and blood splattered. She glared, and she hated him. "Just you wait, you bastard," she growled as he finished the last of the sacrifices and, satisfied with the ritual's direction, quickly departed without so much as a farewell, "I'll get you. All of my humiliation and their suffering will be a tickle next to what I'm gonna do to you. Just you wait …"

And the phenomenon of Soul Edge caught her attention again. The blood swirled in the waters, channeled to the sentient eye of Soul Edge. The helmet next to the sword twitched and wobbled, and then a from filled up the inside of it. Blood ran up into it and solidified, grew features, transformed into flesh before her very eyes.

"Oh shit," she repeated, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Blood flowed into the breastplate, the pauldrons, into the gauntlets, the fauld and boots. Dark lightning struck down upon the sword, and she heard an earth-shaking crack of thunder as a dark figure with a freakishly huge and misshapen arm emerged from the waters, donned in armor, with Soul Edge in his grasp. The Nightmare was reborn.

With burning eyes, Nightmare approached the motionless Tira and she gulped, terrified. He stood towering over her, gazing down into her eyes. The monstrosity raised up that oversized powerful arm as if to flatten her.

Frantic, she barely managed to cry out, "I am your slave!"

In the far distance, an echo of rumbling thunder.

It paused, but did not break its gaze nor did it lower its mutated hand.

"Command me as you see fit, master. I will obey your every whim." And slowly and carefully, Tira lowered herself to her hands and knees where she kissed the muddy boot. "I am your's, master."

A strange gurgling sound came from the monster, and Tira looked up, still shaking with uncertainty. Water and blood poured from the helmet, raining down on Tira, and the gurgling continued but slowly evolved into primitive grunts and coughs and then finally into a low dark evil and ominous voice. "Rise."

Timidly, Tira got back on her knees and waited, then eased herself up to her feet, her hands at her side, standing at attention looking straight forward.

A low guttural voice growled from the supernatural being in front of her, "I thirst for souls."

Tira nodded, and started to turn, but Nightmare caught her by the arm and turned her around. Then he grabbed her by the throat, and lifted Tira off the ground so her feet dangled in the air. Her hands still at her sides as he squeezed her windpipe and cut off her air and circulation. "I thirst for a _Warrior's_ Soul. A strong soul—"

"Then you shall die of thirst," a powerful voice boomed.

Nightmare released his slave, and they both looked in the direction from whence the voice came. Out of the smoky haze stepped a man in an exotic armor Tira had never seen. Blonde hair. An eyepatch. And a curved blade unlike any she'd encountered before. "I am Arthur come to cleanse the plague of your existence."

"Does announcing yourself like that make you feel important?" Tira asked massaging her neck. A growl from her master made her gulp and look up.

Without moving, Nightmare stated, "bring him to me."

Tira closed her eyes and let out a long tired sigh. Five days of lying in that damn wagon, then she has to dodge lizards, swim, fetch her ring blade, then kill the lizards. Five more days of lying in that damn wagon, and today she's beaten up a little girl, thrown the brat and her guardian off a cliff, knocked out and dragged an entire caravan of gypsies all the way up here, and now she had _another_ fight on her hands. Why couldn't fate ever spread out her activities?

But Tira nodded, picked up her ring blade, and forced herself to her feet feeling sluggish, working the muscles in her arm as her weapon hung over her shoulder. Once she got her adrenaline going, she'd be okay. With caution, she approached the warrior named Arthur, but … but that was nifty armor. And a curved sword? That was pretty cool too. Not as cool as her ring blade, but cool none-the-less. "Where did you get that armor and sword?"

He swung for Tira's head, and Tira's eyes went wide and she froze up. But her battle instincts took over at the very last second, and she managed to safely bat it away with her ring blade. Thank goodness, he didn't follow it up. He'd of killed her easily (and he visibly cursed himself for not doing so.) He lunged again, and she defended again with only slightly improved reaction time. But once again he didn't follow up. Testing her.

"You know, it's really rude to ignore—"

And now he swiped low to cut her legs off at the shin, and Tira just barely hopped back, landing ungracefully on her bottom (with a splash) before scrambling to her feet, awaiting a follow up that never came. Seriously, when was this guy going to quit testing her?

"You're starting to piss me off." Tira said, planting a hand on her sexy hip, "just answer the question so I can kill you."

The man let loose a battle cry and raced for Tira with a mighty swing of his katana, one mighty enough to cleave her thin figure in two diagonally from shoulder to hip. But alas, he waited too long, for now her adrenaline flowed, now her eyes foresaw the attack, and her mind set her body in motion. As his blade came down, she spun out of the Japanese sword's path and mid-twirl hooked her ring-blade around his throat. But not against the blade. Oh no. She could have cut him in two had she wanted, but no. She hooked the inner portion of the ring around his throat, hopped up, and planted her feet on the back of his head. Together, they came crashing down (and mud and water went flying up). His hands instinctively went to the object choking him, and the deadly edge of the ring blade nearly cut his hands off. He'd of unleashed a scream, but now Tira stood atop him, her weight bearing down upon him, pressing his throat against the safe edge of the ring blade, choking him and simultaneously forcing his face into the puddle to drown him.

One way or another, Arthur would not be breathing.

"You know, it's funny how things work out. You being cautious when I'm feeling clumsy." She rocked back and forth, grinding her weapon's blade against the bones of his hands, digging them deeper and slowly sawing through them. She felt him squirm beneath her feet, but she kept her balance. "Then you get aggressive right as I get my act together. Those tests didn't get you anywhere, did they?"

Arthur grit his teeth, trying to keep his agony in check. He jerked suddenly from side to side, fighting with his fleeting strength, but Tira stayed atop him, kept her foot planted firmly against the back of his head, and kept him deprived of oxygen.

"I've always sucked at tests, anyway" Tira lamented. "Sometimes I test my opponent, but that takes patience and I have no patience. I get bored easily. It'll get me killed one day, I know, but I can't help it, and—oh goodie! You're asleep!" She hopped up, and brought both feet down on the back of Arthur's head, smashing his face into stones beneath the water and mud, then she slid her weapon out from under him, but her perkiness melted when her master just stared at her.

She sighed, tossing the ring blade into the waters with a splash, slipping her arms under the unconscious man, she pulled him to his feet, locking his arms behind his back. Then she slowly dragged his heavy butt over to Nightmare.

"Your prey, my Lord," she said with a bow of her head.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	16. Chains of Desire, Shackles of Addiction

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**16**

"The Chains of Desire and the Shackles of Addiction"

Nightmare's massive arm snatched the weak mortal from Tira's grasp. The girl hopped back with a gulp, watching with wide eyes (still unable to get over that freaky eye in the middle of his sword.) Holding the limp body of Arthur in one hand, Nightmare drove Soul Edge into his heart with one vicious thrust that left Arthur impaled. His mouth opened to scream, but only blood came out. His whole body tensed, his arms reached invisible hand holds, his fingers closing into tight fists but, alas, they grasped only air. No miracle. No salvation.

His blood ran down the massive blade. The veins in Soul Edge's massive eye pulsated. The eye itself seemed to react, looking straight at Arthur with a freakishly intense gaze (made doubly weird coming from only one eye, and infinitely weird given the eye was on a sword.) His body began shriveling, and the boiling blood gave off a faint aura. And like that, Arthur was no more. His soul consumed. His body an empty shell impaled on Soul Edge. With a massive swing, Nightmare discarded the worthless remains of a human being. His unrecognizable body flew clear across the court yard and over the cliff to disappear to the darkness below. Forever.

Nightmare gestured to the gypsy corpses littering the courtyard. "Dispose of them," he commanded, and departed deeper into Ostriensberg.

"Yes, master," Tira said, bowing her head, wearily (but promptly) beginning her assignment . . . until Nightmare had disappeared down the corridor at which point she sighed heavily rolled her eyes and mumbled to herself, "beat up a little girl, threw her off a cliff. Beat up her dad, threw him off a cliff. Beat up a bunch of gypsies, dragged them up here. Beat up that guy. No, Tira, you haven't done enough today. Why don't you drag all these bodies over to the cliff and throw them over? Oof, this one is heavy."

One by one, she pulled them over and rolled them into the black abyss. She pulled something in her back, slipped on one of the underwater stones and twisted her ankle (hurting her wrist too, stopping the fall), not to mention exhausted herself performing these midnight cleanup duties. Her friends chirped at her from above, and gave her encouragement. She answered back, but she shooed them away when they tried to land. "No, not with all the weird things I've seen," she warned, "better keep a safe distance. I dunno what I'd do if anything happened to you guys."

And so, barely able to stay up, she weakly and stiffly walked with a very heavy limp through the corridors of Ostriensberg. Alone. Not in too much of a hurry to find her new master, she didn't bother calling out, opting to quietly search. Nevertheless, it didn't take long to find him in the throne room, which, despite all logic, remained amazingly well preserved. Stained glass windows still intact. Decorative (and probably expensive) furniture still occupying the room. How it survived the destruction and ruin the rest of the castle suffered? How it eluded thieves and looters? She had no idea. Maybe a curse? She didn't believe in curses, but then again she didn't believe in Soul Edge two hours ago either.

Nightmare sat upon the thrown, Soul Edge laid across his lap. The strange being gazed at her as she entered and commanded, "come."

Weakly, Tira made her way over, somehow sensing impatience on his alien and emotionless face. She tried to pick up her pace, but a sudden devastating pang of pain floored her and it became a struggle just to stand back up and continue on.

"Pathetic human." Nightmare commented.

_Oh bite me._

She finally made it to the steps in front of the throne, and all but collapsed into a kneeling position.

"Come here," he gestured for her to come to kneel beside the throne.

Swearing in her mind, Tira crawled up the three steps and obediently seated herself next to her master. Nightmare reached over and, with a surprisingly gentle and caressing touch, stroked Tira's hair. She gulped. Somehow this made her more nervous than being choked. A big freaky _thing_ with a monstrous arm? Those are supposed to smash stuff and choke little girls. But this? This was just _creepy!_

_Ew, I hope he doesn't expect … he's not trying to … ew!_

As if answering her thoughts, Nightmare took a fistful of her hair. Tira gulped (again). And he lead her to the eye of Soul Edge, bent the girl over the sword and brought her face point blank with that massive orb of ultimate abominations.

_Help._

The eye gazed at her. Glared at her. Peered through her soul. Consumed her like a vast pit that she'd been thrown into. She couldn't look away. Everywhere she looked, Soul Edge looked back at her. She felt its essence, its presence, its soul envelop her . . . and then it spoke to her. Whispering in the back of her mind. Inaudible at first, but then the whispers grew louder. Caressing her into surrender. Persuading her to let go. Encouraging her to abandon herself. Seducing her to embrace Soul Edge and its power, its mysteries, and its temptations.

Tira felt her defenses abandon her one by one. Her will, her sense of logic, her sense of pride, her sense of survival. Staring into that massive eye, Tira felt all of her defenses stripped away from her. Guided by the will of the sword, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth . . . and licked the eye of Soul Edge. And as her tongue travelled across that smooth moist surface, absorbing its tears she felt a strange euphoria enter her. Reaching the eyelid, Tira retracted the taste organ, returned to her starting point, and licked the giant eyeball again. For a second time, the euphoria came, travelling deeper into her. Her head buzzed with sensations, thoughts, and feelings not unlike hallucinations. Like her being started to leave her to become something better. Approaching the end once again, Tira backtracked, placed her tongue upon the moist eye a third time, and consumed more of those beautiful tears. The euphoria dripped deeper and deeper down her throat with every journey across the eye. It touched her heart, her lungs, she felt it spread through her veins, and throughout her body.

She felt … renewed.

Tira shuddered from a bizarre inexplicable pleasure. She had no idea why she began this bizarre ritual, and now she couldn't stop herself. As strange, creepy, and outright disgusting as it seemed, she didn't care. She wanted this feeling. She needed this feeling. She couldn't live without this sensation.

And all the while, Nightmare stroked his slave's hair. Every lap of her tongue, every tear she consumed, every moment of contact tightened the noose of hopeless addiction. Her anxiety, her uncertainty, her doubts would now melt away. Now that she'd tasted Soul Edge's tears. She would put up with any abuse, she would obey any command, she would do anything. Anything! So she could return to this spot right here and drink in Soul Edge's tears. She wanted them. She needed them.

Shackled and imprisoned by a physiological addiction, her body belonged to him now with no hope of escape.

She belonged to him. Forever.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	17. Serving a Nightmare in a Waking Wo

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**17**

"Serving a Nightmare in a Weird Waking World"

Tira slowly awoke from a deep dreamless sleep, feeling as though coming out of a coma. Like she was adrift on a boat in an abyss of absolute darkness, very very gradually (almost imperceptibly) making progress to the shore of the waking world. First she became aware of her body again, her senses returning to her, with a hard cold stone floor beneath her and her aching muscles. Then her memories came into focus, recalling her exhausting day before with her numerous fights and endless chores and the … whatever the hell happened between her and the sword. Then the hunger struck. Not a normal hunger for food (though she felt that too), but remembering the sword, the eye of Soul Edge, Tira yearned for that blissful feeling again. Oh, how she wanted to feel that strange exotic and soothing warmth to seep into her being again. And with those desires, she opened her heavy eyelids and looked around as the blurriness faded from her vision.

Nightmare still sat upon the throne, glaring at her, the sword still lay across his lap. Tira lay at his feet. She slowly eased herself up and sat on her legs, leaned across the sword, and opened her mouth to taste those sweet tears again, but Nightmare snatched her by the hair and pulled her head back.

"No!" He growled.

Tira closed her eyes and whimpered.

"If you please your master, you will be rewarded. Fail me, and you will suffer dearly. Do you understand?"

Tira nodded as best she could.

"I thirst for revenge. Those who have intervened in my plans in the past shall suffer my wrath. Their souls I shall consume, and torment until the end of time. We shall hunt them down, and destroy them all, and then I will consume the world. Today, I resume my war with the mortals, and all shall tremble in my shadow!"

"But Master—"

Nightmare jerked Tira's head all the way back and roared his displeasure at being interrupted.

"Ar-are you at full power? May I h-humbly suggest we wait here."

"No!"

"B-but master! I know how my kind think! How they work!" speaking fast to get her ideas out before he silenced her, Tira quickly explained, "Small disturbances in town and rumors! They'll get around! People will come to investigate! Trickling in only a few at a time! Your enemies will hear, but they won't know! They'll come to investigate! Alone! You can divide them! Conquer them! And by the time the world realizes Soul Edge still lives, you'll be unstoppable!"

"Pathetic human! I don't need to divide them!" Nightmare threw Tira to the ground and shot up.

"But master!"

"Silence!" Nightmare stepped on the downed Tira.

"But you were defeated before!"

"INSOLENCE!" Nightmare raised Soul Edge high above his head, glaring down at his cowering slave, ready to drive the blade through her and into the stone floor.

But the girl looked up through her brow, almost smiling as her voice deepened, becoming almost … seductive? "I'm only looking out for my master … trying to serve him as best I can. You are powerful, master, absolutely. But not invincible. But _together_, we _are_ invincible! Let _me_ bring them to you, so _you_ can beat them. Let me _serve_ you," and Tira lowered her forehead to the floor next to Nightmare's boot in complete submission, "master."

Nightmare lowered Soul Edge, reached down and grabbed Tira by the collar, and lifted her off the floor so her feet dangled an inch off the ground. And somehow the being whose eyes he met now seemed to belong to an entirely different creature than the one he threw to the floor not two minutes ago. A paradoxical wisdom lurked beneath her purple eyes, a schemer, a manipulator, and a deceiver. She gulped, her eyes were wide with fear, but somehow Nightmare sensed an evil grin lurking below the surface. "You're not what you seem."

Tira smiled and giggled.

"Very well," He set her down gently, then gestured towards the door, "go, human, and serve your master. Use what you know of your people against them, and bring them to me."

With a smooth fluid sweeping gesture, the girl bowed deeply, turned on her heel, kicked her ring blade into her grasp, and walked out of the room, "Yes, my Lord," without ever looking back.

-x-

Ostriensberg, Arena.

The masked monstrosity in full armor swung its oversized great axe in huge wild arcs like a raving madman, screaming and grunting some unintelligible language. "Berzerker" they called him. The kinda-sorta not really de facto Champion of this caged Arena. Most of the combatants face one another, the winner claiming a nice money purse and given the choice to continue fighting (and risk losing it or doubling their prize) or walking away with what they have. Most fools fall to greed, become champion, then lose everything, walking away with nothing while their successor repeats the cycle and on and on and the town gets entertained for virtually nothing.

But that's for local competition.

Outside competition, such as the man with slanty eyes and … roped together sticks? What was his name? Lee something? Li Long! That's right. Anyway, people like him played by a different set of rules. First of all, a local loser is simply stripped of all valuables and tossed out of the arena, at the mercy of angry gamblers who may want compensation for their gambling losses which results in a second beating. But people who look different? They get locked into the pillories, put on display and at the mercy of a paranoid racist crowd for days. If they're lucky, the officials will release them, but it wouldn't be the first time a foreigner died trapped in the stocks. And even if they do get released, they're pretty much done for. It rarely ends well for foreigners in this day and age.

And second, even if the foreigner wins, the Officials can't let it stand. So foreigners get the unpleasant "honor" of fighting the Berzerker, and the people just love seeing him smash their slanty-eyed or dark skinned tails against the cage with bone-crushing force. Even if they win, it rarely ends well for these strangers from afar.

But this fellow seems to be doing quite well despite having a plaything as a weapon completely incapable of hurting his armored foe. Then the smaller man surprised the crowd. Letting Berzerker dedicate to an attack, the man dodged to the side, leapt up, and brought the nunchaku down upon the armored beast's helmet. Each stick sliding through the eye socket. Berzerker unleashed another cry, but not a battle cry. One of pain as it dropped its mighty weapon and backed up.

"Oh wow," Tira marveled from the stands. Ten seconds later, the smaller man hammered the nunchaku deeper into the giant's helmet and vanquished his larger foe.

_Didn't see that one coming._

It was settled. She'd take his soul. Rising to her feet, she headed for the walkway. For once she blended in with the crowd. Of course, that was because a big shiny battle distracted everyone, especially a battle with a dirty foreigner no one liked. But she liked being faceless, moving amongst the people and watching where the foreigner ventured (watching to see if the officials would let him walk away.) Surprisingly, they did (grudgingly, they did … and he was smart enough to take his prize and leave.)

_They're probably going to send assassins after him. That's the way things go around here. _

She never quite understood where the hatred or fear of people who looked different came from. In a way, everyone in these parts all look the same (granted, she had an easier time telling one from another.) But the people from far far away, they looked exotic! Different skin colors, different shapes to their features, a different quality to their hair. She couldn't tell one asian from another, but that was okay because they all looked cool to her. Perhaps she wasn't racist because her own kind treated her like garbage, and so she had no compulsion to side with her own kind in the immortal "us versus them" mentality.

Li Long could have stayed at the Lakeside Inn for free, right next to the arena, but with his prize he opted for the inn on the other side of town. The Great Willow Inn. A wise move. The Lakeside Inn wasn't very nice to winners who stuck around with their prize. And, given his appearance and the populace's animosity for his kind …

_Smart and strong. Master will be pleased with me for this one!_

She could almost taste Soul Edge's tears, and just the thought brought back the memory of the thick soothing euphoria oozing down her throat, into her blood stream, passing through her body, stimulating her and—

Tira shook those thoughts away. If she let it hijack her thoughts, she'd wind up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth, caressing herself in a vain effort to bring that other worldly … what was it she felt? She didn't know. It made no sense. She licked a big eyeball on a sword. Why did she want to go do that again? All she knew was Nightmare did something to her, and whatever it was she couldn't get it out of her thoughts. No matter how stupid, illogical, or creepy as it might be to acquire that sensation, it didn't matter. She'd do anything for it. Nightmare promised her more if she brought him souls to feast on; he even gave her a new power. He gave it to her when he blessed (cursed) her with "that feeling." The tears of Soul Edge imparted it to her: the power to use her body as a transport vessel, to take their souls right from their bodies and keep them tucked inside her so she didn't have to go lugging around unconscious people for miles and miles. And she absorbed the knowledge of how to do it when she licked the eye of Soul Edge.

It made no sense. Not that long ago she wouldn't have believed it if someone told her there were men with magic who could control people's minds; it was hogwash to think a magic sword could possess its wielder, and only the most wild imagination could dream up a working eyeball on a sword. In light of the reality she lived, absorbing power through an evil artifact's tears didn't seem like as much of a stretch (depressingly.)

_The world used to be so sane. _

So here she was. Seeking out her prey. He ventured into The Great Willow Inn, and despite having already acquired a room there (paid for with the coin from that Arthur fellow) Tira lingered outside for a bit, looked up into the air and whistled to her friends. They chirped in response and started circling. Then Tira looked around, and walked off.

_Smart and strong … can't take any chances. Might need help bringing him down ..._

_

* * *

_

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	18. An Assassin and Her Toys

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**18**

"An Assassin and Her Toys"

Tira found herself in the doorway to an abandoned bakery that once upon a time served as a home to derelicts then it served as a toy shop. But not kid's toys. Her kind of toys.

A small perpetual pile of debris and garbage lined the floors around the walls, pushed out of the way so people could walk from room to room. The walls were stained with things Tira, frankly, didn't care to know (didn't even care to look at.) Once upon a time, she'd meet up with a shady merchant who would lead her through the foyer into the back, into the office, were a trap door would lead them down into the dungeon with the toys. Poisons, elixirs, tools to keep people tied down, tools to make people talk. Everything the Bird of Passage needed her to have, this place at one time provided.

Now, no sign of life or a contact. All of these contacts seem to have disappeared with the Bird of Passage with seemingly no reason. Just poof, and all was gone. Ever on alert, no telling what kind of character Tira would find here now, she retraced familiar steps and—

Spotting a shadow in the office, Tira took cover right as a crossbow bolt flew through the open doorway. And before her assailant had time to reload, she darted through, hopped up, and kicked the weapon from him. The moment her feet nimbly touched down, she lunged forward, pinning her attacker against the wall … then she recognized the face, and her expression went from rage to confusion. "Hey, you're the merchant man!" The same nameless fellow the Guild sent her to in these parts. "Why did you attack me?" Her voice sounded like a sad lost little kid unable to explain the mean cruel world, and then a thought occurred and her voice lowered to a bloodthirsty threat on the very same breath, "you didn't take the Bird of Passage away did you?" He unsheathed a dagger, but her battle-honed instincts easily detected it, and with a dance-like performance, Tira managed to not only avoid the assault, but also twirl her captive around, pin his wrist behind his back, and run him face first into the wall, repeating her demand with even more venom, "Did you?"

"Just kill me like you did to everyone else!"

"What did you do to the Bird of Passage?" She twisted his arm, pulled his head back, and slammed it into the wall even harder.

"Wha—aagh!" he cried out, his wrist now at the breaking point and his forehead and nose now throbbing. Slowly regaining composure, "Look, I'm sorry. They came after me. I don't know why. They all went crazy."

"LIAR!" Tira launched off from that wall, spun around, and slammed her victim's head into the opposite one. "Why would they do that?"

"Oof!" Battered, his thoughts whirled and the world spun. Once he had a semblance of coherent thought again, he yelped, "I don't know! That's why I attacked you. Okay? A bunch of your guildsman attacked me for no reason out of the blue. I recognized you as one of them. Okay? I figured whatever made them crazy got to you! That's the truth!"

Jerking his head back, Tira roared, "I don't believe you!"

"No! Please! I haven't seen you around here in awhile. You have no idea what went on. Weird things have happened! I can't explain them, but that's the honest to God truth! Some say devils, other say witchcraft, others say Soul Edge if you believe such rubbish."

"Where is my guild, dammit?" And now just the mere threat of smashing his face in was enough to keep him talking.

"I don't—"

She jerked his head forward, without actually breaking his face again.

"Agh! No! S-supposedly there was a pillar of light in the darkness. The Dark Seed, they called it. I don't know! I didn't see it! But other people talk about it! All I know is, something happened, and people started going crazy! Everyone! Ostriensberg burned women for being witches, hanged men for dealing with the devil, and The Bird of Passage went totally insane, lady. Trust me, I would never cross that guild. I'm not that stupid. Were they themselves, do you think I could've stopped one of them?"

Biting her lip, Tira fought the urge to slam his head against the wall and keep slamming it until he stopped moving. Oh she wanted her guild back so badly, and this scum seemed to know something. She wanted to hurt him! She wanted to take it out on him! She wanted to, but … dammit! He was right! She easily bested him! What chance did he have against the entire guild unless something did screw with them? So she screamed! Unleashed the rage within in the form of a violent vocal outburst, shaking from her intense collision of emotions.

"People started talking about a knight on the warpath, destroying every town he came across and leaving no soul alive. He was making his way here, supposedly. A man with a little girl …"

The same man and little girl Tira just tossed off a cliff the night before. Dammit, it was starting to add up, but Tira didn't want it to add up. That meant the guild really did go crazy, and they really were gone forever.

_Damn! Damn! Damn!_ She mentally cursed. _DAMMIT!_

"…he said he would stop the knight at the castle. I don't know if the knight ever existed, but he never showed up and we never heard from the man and the little girl again. That's all I can tell you."

Tira let him go, and back away into the opposite wall, then slid down to her tush. Her voice, having lost all fight and rage, now sounded vulnerable again as she squeaked, "and the Bird of Passage?"

The man gulped, slowly turning around and sitting down. "Dead … as far as I can tell. I'm sorry."

Tira nodded, buried her head in her hands, and wept.

* * *

"Go," she had told the merchant man as she pulled herself back together, "Leave town. Leave everything behind. Go far away. And never come back."

"But—"

She then dropped her voice, and glared with a look that declared she wasn't in the mood to negotiate. And upon the merchant man's departure, helped herself to his wares. Specifically, a little backpack and a series of small vials. Some containing powders, others containing liquids of different colors. Drugs and poisons.

Now she stood in front of the Great Willow inn once again. Her friends chirped at her from above, and she chirped back. They found a spot on the roof and settled down, and Tira went inside and set her newly acquired stuff down in her room. Well, most of her newly acquired stuff. She kept two different vials on her person. Back out to the busy common room, she sat at a table by herself, keeping an idle eye on her pray while trying to figure out a means of getting close and taking his soul. Right now a group of obnoxious loud mouth intoxicated locals verbally harassed him while he quietly ate and consumed a tankard of … something. Probably alcohol.

No one came to serve her. No surprise. Since the Bird of Passage vanished, or went crazy or whatever, no one had been nice to her. No wait! That wasn't true! Miss Agnes and Mister Curtis—

She stopped and her lip quivered, tears flooded to her eyes. She laid her head on the table and whimpered at the memory. The only people nice to her, the only people who made her feel like she fit in, and she killed them. Swallowing hard, Tira stood up and marched over to the bar, plopping some coins on the counter, and stating in unmoving terms she wanted something to drink. Like most other establishments, the men in this packed common room got handy prompt service while she would wait forever unless she set things in motion. She didn't even get alcohol, just water. Not really because she was that thirsty, but she wanted something to do. Even if it was just picking up a mug and taking teeny tiny sips. With depressing memories like her's, anything and everything will suffice as a distraction.

And then by fortunate chance, two of the loud mouths harassing the foreigner needed a refill while Tira was up getting her water. He came up behind her, and slapped her on the ass. And unbeknownst to either of them in that moment, he would provide a way for her to get close and consume the soul of Li Long …

* * *

_Writer's Note:_

_For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my** profile**. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)_


	19. A'Damsel' in 'Distress'

**/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\**

**19**

"A'Damsel' in 'Distress'."

"Look at this piece of work," said the first jerk, as his hand very audibly and loudly smacked Tira's tush.

Though she refrained, her first impulse was to whirl around and drive her elbow into his nose, then sweep the legs out from under his buddy just to be safe. But her training to always publicly appear as the feeble little girl overrode that impulse. She whirled around, and her hand swung wide for the typical girlish slap across the jerk's face.

The jerk's buddy, the bastard, laughed at his friend's red cheek as he pinched Tira's rear. Tira whirled on him, swinging wide but he caught her wrist and shoved Tira back into the Jerk who pinched her bottom too. She moved her hands behind her to shield her rear from their harassments, but then the bastard in front of her groped and squeezed both of her breasts.

"Stop it!" Tira snapped, turning so her back was to the bar (and her butt safely out of slap/pinching range) and she crisscrossed her arms over her chest. "Leave me alone!"

"Aw, you like it," said the jerk, (aka, the one she had hit), slapped her across the face with enough force to spin Tira around, and she collapsed into the bar, bent over so both men held her down and started spanking her. "You like it and you know it!"

"Stop! Please!" Tira pretended to beg. She squirmed and bucked, knowing their combined weight would keep her thoroughly pinned down so they could continue to have their way with her. If she really wanted to get free, she knew she'd have to use a precision blow (such as a elbow to their eye, or groin, or something) to induce a stun and allow her to land another precision blow on the other guy. But she let them do this to her.

And then miraculously, the Jerk disappeared and a loud crash was heard behind her. The Bastard let go and roared, "The hell think you're doing, chink?" Which was then followed by a loud crack, and then a scream, "Aaugh! He broke my nose!"

When Tira got up and looked at the scene behind her, the bastard lay on the floor holding his face with a steady stream of blood flowing from his covered up wound. The jerk rose up, as did his two buddies from the table, "You're going to pay for that!"

"We're gonna send you back where you came from!"

"But first we're going to break your face and fix your slanty eyes!"

Li Long wasn't impressed. He looked over at Tira who watched wide eyed like your typical helpless damsel in distress. "Are you all right?" He asked.

Tira nodded uneasily.

Li Long nodded, and in the blink of an eye he lunged towards the racist and in one fluid motion pulled out his nunchaku and, ahem, 'broke his face and _fixed_ his eyes.' The man spun around from the force of the blow, blood spewing from his nose and mouth, and his eyes were now crossed from the ringing in his skull. He fell to his knees, and crumbled to the floor in a pathetic heap. Tira didn't know what that one word meant (she could guess, coming from these assholes), but whatever it meant she knew never to call someone it.

Then like clockwork, Li Long flew from obnoxious jerk to obnoxious jerk, making short work of them with his bare hands (not terribly impressive, considering they were pretty hammered to begin with). He used his weapon only to strike those who dared to use the 'c-word' which they eventually all did, and he knocked them all cross eyed.

"That's enough!" Roared a new voice from the door. The city guard had appeared. "You've worn out your welcome, stranger! And you're under arrest for starting a brawl. Now come peacefully—"

Li Long narrowed his eyes, sizing up the guards and gauging whether he could take these soldiers.

"No wait!" Tira stepped in front of Li Long, and pointed to the rude pricks whom abused her and whom Li Long put in their places, "They started it! They were going to _rape_ me!" She turned to one of the barmaids, "You saw it!" Then she turned to face the barkeep and pointed, "You too! Tell them! Tell them these jerks left this nice man no choice! It's their fault!"

The room fell silent. The barmaid and barkeep looked at each other, then looked to the floor.

Tira stamped her foot and pouted, "Fine, if you arrest someone, arrest me. I started the fight. It's because of me it all happened."

She felt Li Long's hands on her shoulders, and he gave a gentle comforting squeeze. "You didn't' start anything. It's not your fault. It's theirs."

"She's right," the barmaid finally stepped up. "They were grabbing her and harassing her. They started it." Then she gulped and looked over to her employer … and gulped again.

"But they were drunk!" The barkeep defended, "They'd had a few drinks. They were just trying to have some fun."

Not surprised, Tira rolled her eyes. The in-crowd always got excuses and a free pass, meanwhile anyone they could write off as an outsider (either by dressing different or just looking different) was always at fault. Always.

"That wasn't just 'having fun'! What they did to her was wrong!" The barmaid answered.

"Quiet you!" The inn keeper snapped. "Quit taking sides or else you'll be working as a whore in the ghettos! Ya hear me, woman?"

Biting her lip, the barmaid fell silent. But still, she gave more a defense than most other people would give in this world, which made Tira smile.

"Fine." The leader of the guards said, "But we'll be watching you two. If you cause any other disturbances, you'll be spending the night in a cell. You got that?"

"Yes sir," Tira said.

And as the guards left, the inn keeper narrowed his eyes, "get your asses out of my inn! You're not welcome here!"

"But—"

"Now!"

As the sun set in the west, casting golden light across the land, Tira darted after a lone silhouette on the road. "Hey, wait up!" Tira, with her backpack of 'toys' slung around her back, caught up with Li Long at the outskirts of the town, heading (to her relief) towards the castle atop the mountain. "Do you mind if we travel together? I'm really sorry I got you kicked out of the inn."

"I prefer to travel alone," he said, never breaking his pace. "And don't fret. I do not blame you for what happened."

Tira stopped, and in a pitiful voice answered, "Oh … I prefer company, but …sorry."

Li Long stopped and sighed. "Come along, then."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh goodie!" And Tira hopped to life, skipping up to her new friend whose soul she planned to steal.

"I'm Tira. What's your name?"

He wasn't a talkative fellow. Conflicted introverted males usually aren't. But Tira persisted in questioning him, and her adorable chipperness and childlike curiosity eventually won answers from him. He told her his name was Li Long, and he lived a tragic life of lost love and near death experiences as though failure forever hovered over his head, waiting to doom his next step. He spoke of his now deceased wife, Chie, who cared for him after a mission turned disastrous, how she died at the hands of a swordsman whom Li Long vowed to track down.

"I'm sorry," Tira sincerely said, slipping an arm around the warrior and squeezing him in a timid hug. And deep down inside, Tira smiled … her plan was coming together. She walked closer to him, even tripped once so he would catch her, pretended to sprain her ankle so she could continue to walk with her arm around him for support. Slowly working her way closer, letting him get comfortable with her, so she could ease the burden of his heartache before ripping his heart out.

Darkness fell, and Tira insisted they rest for the night, complaining she couldn't go any further. Li Long insisted they push on for reasons he refused to share, but Tira knew anyway. The Arena coordinators would send assassins after him, but he didn't want to frighten her. However, after a little further, Tira pretended to crumble and whined that her ankle hurt too much to walk. Li Long gave in, scooping her up in his arms, and carrying her into the woods where they'd find a hidden safe spot.

He advised against a fire, and she conceded only if she could curl up next to him to fend off the cold, which he reluctantly agreed to. Tira marveled at his fidelity to his dead wife. For the past two hours, she'd worked her way closer and closer to him, and he never took advantage of it. Never a "slip" where he "accidentally" touched her, never an awkward touch. He helped her along with her faux-sprained ankle, sat beside her so she wouldn't be cold, but never a step further.

_Good thing I got help. _She thought, taking out two seemingly identical bottles from her backpack. "Look what I managed to swipe before they kicked us out!" And unbeknownst to Li Long, Tira handed him a marked bottle. She'd ever so slightly indented the cork with her fingernail, so she knew which one to hand him. "I figured dammit we paid for our rooms, and they kicked us out, so we should get something!"

Li Long chuckled, taking the bottle, but not uncorking it just yet. Of course not. That would be too easy. He had to take his time and piss her off because she had no patience and was filled with anxiety to take his soul, go back to Nightmare, and taste Soul Edge's tears again to get that feeling back (and avoid the bad dreams which withdrawal brought)! She shuddered just thinking about it.

"You okay?"

"Hm? Oh yeah," back in reality, she blushed, and searched for something to talk about. Something that would get him drinking, "Mister Li Long?"

"Hm?"

"Tell me more about this Soul Edge thing. I don't understand what it had to do with Chie …"

He sat, staring straight ahead for a long time, and then on a sigh, he uncorked the bottle and took a long thorough gulp …

_It's about damn time!_


End file.
